Para ver la versión original en inglés, haga click aquí.
Vaca sagrada
¿Cómo es su vaca sagrada?
Son cosas que está haciendo por el libro?
o son cosas que cambian demasiado rápido
y hay un aspecto distinto?
No se ha ido, pero los molinos de viento existentes.
Entonces, ¿quién va a dirigir la lucha?
Tal vez es mejor dejar las cosas se
e ir rápidamente en la noche.
How now is your Sacred Cow?
Are things being done by the book?
or are things changing too fast
and is there a different look?
Don is gone, but he windmills exist.
So who is going to lead the fight?
Perhaps it’s better to leave things be
and go quickly into the night.
To read this poem in Spanish, click here.
L’arbre de Noël, une histoire
Je suis un peu votre arbre de Noël,
un peu de vous présenter de ma part,
mais vous devez savoir mon histoire.
C’est très intéressant, tu vois,
Dans la première moitié du 8ème siècle,
un moine britannique et d’un missionnaire
prêché un sermon sur la Nativité
à une tribu de druides en Allemagne.
Saint-Boniface, l’Apôtre de l’Allemagne »
couper leurs arbres de chêne sacré, et
quand il est tombé, des arbustes devient des débris,
sauf pour un petit plant de sapin - me.
Saint-Boniface, puis, avec un grand soulagement
m’a appelé l’arbre du Christ enfant.
Les gens ont planté des sapins à célébrer,
mais alors les arbres sont devenus ornée.
Martin Luther mettre des bougies sur son arbre,
et puis je rayonnait et était jolie.
Chansons ont été composées autour de moi,
et maintenant je suis un hit, commercialement.
Je suis un peu votre arbre de Noël,
un peu de vous présenter de ma part,
mais vous savez maintenant mon histoire.
C’est très intéressant, tu vois.
Pour lire ce poème en anglais, cliquez ici.
I am a your little Christmas Tree,
a little present to you from me,
but you should know my history.
It’s very interesting, you see,
In first half of the 8th century,
a British monk and a missionary
preached a sermon on the Nativity
to a tribe of Druids in Germany.
St. Boniface, the “Apostle of Germany”
cut down their sacred oak tree, and
when it fell, shrubs became debris,
except for a small fir sapling - me.
St. Boniface then, with great relief
called me the Christ Child tree.
People planted firs to celebrate,
but then the trees became ornate.
Martin Luther put candles on his tree,
and then I glowed and was pretty.
Songs were composed about me,
and now I’m a hit, commercially.
I am a your little Christmas Tree,
a little present to you from me,
but you now know my history.
It’s very interesting, you see.
To read the poem in French, click here.
Old habits are hard to break,
and you are always on my mind.
I”ve searched all over and know
that you are one of a kind.
You’re one of a kind,
in a class by yourself.
If I were your teacher,
books stay on the shelf.
I’d teach you what
you need to know
all by myself.
Old habits are hard to break,
and you are always on my mind.
I”ve searched all over and know
that you are one of a kind.
You’re one of a kind,
in a class by yourself.
On the first of April,
I’d be your fool, and
I’d be your favorite
subject in school.
In September, I’d
remember that you’re
the only one for me.
By December, you would
have a diamond ring.
Old habits are hard to break,
and you are always on my mind.
I’ve searched all over and know
that you are one of a kind.
You’re one of a kind,
in a class by yourself.
If I were your teacher,
books stay on the shelf.
I’d teach you what
you need to know
all by myself.
The World of Words by Elias Tobias has a series of 25 podcasts from the Love Notes book. You can listen to the recordings and download them for free to your favorite IPod device. You will need a program to hear them, so if you do not have a program, you can click here for a free QuickTime program. Click here to get to the podcasts.
(Photo by Mike Hall)
The details of a common clover wildflower are easily seen on a summer day in a field as the leaves soak up the sun’s heat.
my ghosts are gone …
my mind is clear of the
demons that once
possessed my thoughts;
yet, in a strange way, I
miss them because
I could control them,
most of the time.
now I see living ghosts
beyond my grasp
and my ability to understand.
This entry, by Rev. Paul Abernathy, is probably inspired by his own experiences.
Poor Man’s Prayer
Lord, please help me again.
My luck finally has run out.
I need you more than ever.
I don’t know what to do.
I work 12 hours a day
and account for every cent,
but before I even blink
all my money has been spent.
No matter how hard I try,
I never seem to stay ahead.
I skip meals to save on food.
My bank accounts are in the red.
I sold my car for 50 bucks
after a freak auto accident.
Now I wait by the road
with my hand up, thumb bent.
Lord help me again.
My luck finally has run out.
I need you more than ever.
I don’t know what to do.
To read this poem in Spanish, click here.
Just once…
let me hold your hand.
Just once…
press your lips against mine.
Just once …
hold your body next to me.
Just once …
let me make love to you.
Just once…
let me feel what it is to be
in love before I have to go.
To read this poem in French, click here.
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