About Love... Poem by Ekaterina Polischuk
It is so strange to read about love…
A lot of words, one better other one…
But saying words is not for love enough,
It lives in our hearts and is the sun.
It can be sweet and real when we feel
Like one hand take another in the dark.
It can be awful when it makes us ill,
We are unhappy crying in the park.
It can be holly when we look at God,
In our prayers thank for everything.
It can be sleepy, shy and noisy, but
It goes away when we of tears think…
It can leave us when we believe in tears,
We shut our mind from other lonely heart,
We live alone and stay under the fears,
Just sit and wait for day another start…
But if we love we should not be afraid
Of being close to happiness in us,
Because by Angels everything were made
To make us troubles with the trusty pass…
It is so strange to read about love,
Because the feelings cannot be described.
And saying words is not for love enough…
Without love we live but we are died.
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Comments about this poem (About Love... by Ekaterina Polischuk )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
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A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- 'Hope' is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- On the Ning Nang Nong, Spike Milligan
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe