POEM FOR FRIENDS

Who are best friends ? Best friends are those people who live very close to our heart. We spend our most of the time with them, sometimes our complete day end with them. They are very important in our life. That's why in this article I have pick some amazing gifts at low price, which is directly attached to their daily life need materials. You can gift these items to your best friend or close one. I hope they will become happy with these items. Why we need to give them special gifts ? Because a best friend is a special person in our life. They are someone with whom we share all our personal matter. Most of us spend our maximum free time with them. They helps us in our critical time. They are too many reason that converts a "best friend" iinto a special person in our life. List of ten special gifts for your best friend at low price. Umbrella.      AVAILABLE ON AMAZON It is a very useful item in our life. It is designed to protect a person against rain or sunlight. An umbre...

I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there's a pair of us! Don't tell! they'd banish us, you know! How dreary to be  Somebody! How public,  like a Frog  To tell your name  the livelong day To an admiring Bog! By Emily Dickinson

The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimming water among the stones Are nine and fifty swans. The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me Since I first made my count; I saw, before I had well finished, All suddenly mount And scatter wheeling in great broken rings Upon their clamorous wings. I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, And now my heart is sore. All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight, The first time on this shore, The bell-beat of their wings above my head, Trod with a lighter tread. Unwearied still, lover by lover, They paddle in the cold, Companionable streams or climb the air; Their hearts have not grown old; Passion or conquest, wander where they will, Attend upon them still. But now they drift on the still water Mysterious, beautiful; Among what rushes will they build, By what lake’s edge or pool Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day...

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.      by Dylan Thomas

If you can keep your head when all about you    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,    But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster    And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, A...

It’s finally Friday—I’m so glad. It’s been a crazy week. I got chewed out on Monday,  and since then it’s all been bleak. I lost my lunch on Tuesday, and a parent went insane, which shocked me so completely that I almost popped a vein. I poked my eye on Wednesday, and the nurse gave me a shot. She sent me to the doctor when I fainted on the spot. On Thursday I was tardy ’cause I kinda overslept. And the snack that I was craving  came up missing in a theft. And so it’s finally Friday. No more pencils, no more books. No more sitting in detention,  no more teachers’ dirty looks. By Friday I’m exhausted,  out of energy and breath. But that’s the day you’ll hear me shout, “Rejoice, TGIF!” And twice a month on Friday, I remember why I stay: You see, I am the principal— that’s when I get my pay.     Paul Orshoski

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.    By-james Langston

I'm staying home from school today. I'd rather be in bed pretending that I have a pain that's pounding in my head. I'll say I have a stomach ache. I'll claim I've got the flu. I'll shiver like I'm cold and hold my breath until I'm blue. I'll fake a cough. I'll fake a sneeze. I'll say my throat is sore. If necessary I can throw a tantrum on the floor. I'm sure I'll get away with it. Of that, there's little doubt. But, even so, I really hope my students don't find out.     by 👉 By Kenn Nesbitt