Electric Box Iphone Level

March sun

drunk on the first fervor
staggers a yellow butterfly.
Rest, sitting at the window, bent
sleepy, an old man.

In the green of spring, singing,
once he left home. How much dust of the streets

combed his hair!

And - look, the tree flowers and butterflies
- the yellow - aged just seem
,
still seem the same.

But the colors and scents are faint and tired,
light and the air cooler,

harsh breath, heavy.

Spring bruisce - light as bees -
its graceful songs. Ocilla
The sky blue and white, there
, golden, flying butterfly.

(Hermann Hesse)

Honeywell Old Thermostat

March 19, 2009: MY FATHER

My father

Botticelli
In the alley there was a great man
with hands hardened by work and

face scarred by life.

He loved everything.
Everything that's donated land and

led to the nature
as a pure woman

In his eyes the innocence of a man
friendly and just
the great love in his heart.

Everything was all for his plan

nothing was his only bride and her offspring

Man seriously
but not staid
few words but many ,
many acts of love.

Perdition

It still is in my heart.

(Ambrosino Salvatore)

Vivo Per Lei Translate

The rain fell all day.
Oh, come through the trees soaked.
The leaves lie thick on the avenue

memories.
the Boulevard of memories
will stop a while and then we leave.

Come, love, where I can talk intimately.

James Joyce

Myamee From I Love Money

The Angel

That 's latest work! And

will embellish the bedroom!

Much Does Cost Go Bowling

hand spring rains came the cold

The wind carried away by the hint of a spring song,
somewhere
polished and deep
opened a little piece of heaven. In this huge blue
,
between glimpses of the nearby Spring
crying winter storms,
hovering dreams star.
Timid, dark and deep
crying my strings.

The wind carried away by his bright songs.

(Russian A.Blok.Poesia '900)