This is the beach, that will tell a story,
of death and destruction,
followed by war time glory.
At Omah beach, the Allies had landed
We hold within our hearts,
old recipes so rare.
One's that don't come out of books,
and can, quite easily tear.
There was once a familiar scene above the roof tops
where smoke ascended. With the darkness of the skyline and
the dense November fog, a day not passing by without being
sick or tormented. Chimney sweeps and many of them boys and
I would like to be a drummer so I can beat like my heart
and I would like to play the violin so my heart will have strings
and it won't fall apart. If I could play like an Angel, like she plays
the harp but my fingers are to fat and I'll being playing in D Sharp!
By a fir tree in the wood sat a little shepherd boy
He had lost a lamb along the way and he wondered
why he had gone astray. As he walked back over the
muddy track the cold air blew down his back. He travelled
There is a word in every poem, one that is so hard to write,
but if you can write one sentence more.
Then the gift is your's to take wherever.
It is a gift, to be able to write, and show what you can do.
Roll up Roll up! come to the Fair,
roll up roll up! come take a ride.
Come and see the Carousel,
and all the show's on the side.
The dream I had was fierce and strong yet somehow I knew
I did not belong; on a ship that was lost at sea where the waves
were so high that they almost drowned me. As the storm blew in the
men held fast then down to the deck came her mast. The Captain
Behind the Hebe, sits me the big black cat.
I have been sitting here for hours and my mistress
is saying ' why is he doing that; he has a lot of patience
just to sit there and wait, for a tiny creature who knows nothing