Three others that will rhyme.
There-now I’ve done my task.
BROTHER.
Three stupid lines as e’er I knew.
When you’ve the pen next time,
Some question of me ask.
SISTER.
Then tell me, brother, and pray mind,
Brother, you tell me true:
What sort of thing is fancy?
BROTHER.
By all that I can ever find,
‘Tis something that is very new,
And what no dunces can see.
SISTER.
That is not half the way to tell
What fancy is about;
So pray now tell me more.
BROTHER.
Sister, I think ’twere quite as well
That you should find it out;
So think the matter o’er.
SISTER.
It’s what comes in our heads when we
Play at ‘Let’s-make-believe,’
And when we play at ‘Guessing.’
BROTHER.
And I have heard it said to be
A talent often makes us grieve,
And sometimes proves a blessing.

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Let that butterfly alone.
BROTHER.
What harm now do I do?
You’re always making such a noise-
SISTER.
O fie, John; none but naughty boys
Say such rude words as you.
BROTHER.
Because you’re always speaking sharp:
On the same thing you always harp.
A bird one may not catch,
Nor find a nest, nor angle neither,
Nor from the peacock pluck a feather,
But you are on the watch
To moralize and lecture still.
SISTER.
And ever lecture, John, I will,
When such sad things I hear.
But talk not now of what is past;
The moments fly away too fast,
Though endlessly they seem to last
To that poor soul in fear.
BROTHER.
Well, soon (I say) I’ll let it loose;
But, sister, you talk like a goose,
There’s no soul in a fly.
SISTER.
It has a form and fibres fine,
Were tempered by the hand divine
Who dwells beyond the sky.
Look, brother, you have hurt its wing-
And plainly by its fluttering
You see it’s in distress.
Gay painted coxcomb, spangled beau,
A butterfly is called, you know,
That’s always in full dress:
The finest gentleman of all
Insects he is-he gave a ball,
You know the poet wrote.
Let’s fancy this the very same,
And then you’ll own you’ve been to blame
To spoil his silken coat.
BROTHER.
Your dancing, spangled, powdered beau,
Look, through the air I’ve let him go:
And now we’re friends again.
As sure as he is in the air,
From this time, Ann, I will take care,
And try to be humane.

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Just because the infant boy
Has a tiny tooth to show.
I have got a double row,
All as white, and all as small;
Yet no one cares for mine at all.
He can say but half a word,
Yet that single sound’s preferred
To all the words that I can say
In the longest summer day.
He cannot walk, yet if he put
With mimic motion out his foot,
As if he thought he were advancing,
It’s prized more than my best dancing.
BROTHER.
Sister, I know, you jesting are,
Yet O! of jealousy beware.
If the smallest seed should be
In your mind of jealousy,
It will spring, and it will shoot,
Till it bear the baneful fruit.
I remember you, my dear,
Young as is this infant here.
There was not a tooth of those
Your pretty even ivory rows,
But as anxiously was watched,
Till it burst its shell new hatched,
As if it a Phoenix were,
Or some other wonder rare.
So when you began to walk-
So when you began to talk-
As now, the same encomiums past.
‘Tis not fitting this should last
Longer than our infant days;
A child is fed with milk and praise.

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do you know me?
do you hear my voice?
will you touch me?
will you hold me?
will you make the choice?
do you want me?
do you need me?
open the door and let me in!
more than night and day.
more than hurt and pain….
sister, i need a friend!

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Sacred union in earth
Just next to parents that is thought
And found.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza | 20 November,2017

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