A Sinful Heart: A Collection of Poetry and Short Stories

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Short Story About Surrendering To God

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Introducing the Innovation Lab at Puppet. AWS Lambda and Node. Nirmata accelerates cloud-native adoption with Kubernetes based platform for enterprises, managed services providers and edge deployments. Automate storage capacity management, slash cloud storage costs in half with PX-Autopilot. They sang an idle song and free As they went up to calvary. Careless of eye and coarse of lip, They marched in holiest fellowship.

That heaven might heal the world, they gave Their earth-born dreams to deck the grave. With souls unpurged and steadfast breath They supped the sacrament of death.


And for each one, far off, apart, Seven swords have rent a woman's heart. And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. For what is sunk will hardly swim, Not with this wind blowing, and this tide. Then hold your head up all the more, This tide, And every tide; Because he was the son you bore, And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, Fallen in the cause of the free.


Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres. There is music in the midst of desolation And a glory that shines upon our tears. They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

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They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

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At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; They sit no more at familiar tables of home; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound, Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night;. As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain, As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, To the end, to the end, they remain. Not yet will those measureless fields be green again Where only yesterday the wild sweet blood of wonderful youth was shed; There is a grave whose earth must hold too long, too deep a stain, Though for ever over it we may speak as proudly as we may tread.

But here, where the watchers by lonely hearths from the thrust of an inward sword have more slowly bled, We shall build the Cenotaph: Victory, winged, with Peace, winged too, at the column's head. And over the stairway, at the foot - oh! In splendid sleep, with a thousand brothers To lovers - to mothers Here, too, lies he: Under the purple, the green, the red, It is all young life: it must break some women's hearts to see Such a brave, gay coverlet to such a bed!

Only, when all is done and said, God is not mocked and neither are the dead. For this will stand in our Market-place - Who'll sell, who'll buy Will you or I Lie each to each with the better grace? While looking into every busy whore's and huckster's face As they drive their bargains, is the Face Of God: and some young, piteous, murdered face. You would not know him now… But still he died Nobly, so cover him over With violets of pride Purple from Severn side.


Teacher who helps migrant children turn pain into prize poetry | Education | The Guardian

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Midnight thoughts at noon by KidinBackofClass 79 1 Poetry by Frances Van der Merwe 1. Silence: A Poetic Anthology by adrianorit 47 A collection of Koo Junhoe's poems- translated from Korean, collected from across social media in hopes more people read his writings as he wishes, till he publishes his Here's To Us by Magica 57 A book of little poems about the different types of people in the world. Some of them are fantasy themed, others very realistic, all of them are made to be uplifting and