Can I Give A Pine Tree Bark To My Rabbit

Confessions of a thug

All men can not sing
And not everyone is given an apple to fall
how, toward the feet of others.
This is the biggest bully ever confession
What can confide.
should I wear my disheveled head,
oil lamp over my shoulder. I like to lighten the darkness

The bare autumn of your souls;
It pleases me that I fly against
The stones of injury, belching
hail storm.
Only the strongest hold in your hands
The wavy hair of my bubble.
is beneficial then to remember the raucous
alder and erbeggiante pond,
And I live somewhere
Father and mother, not caring at all
of my poems, and they are expensive
As the field and the flesh, and the rain in spring is fine
the soft green corn.
For every cry you I would be thrown with pitchforks
in Scanno.
Poor, poor, my countrymen!
Sure you're not beautiful now,
And fear God, and the bowels of the swamps.
stationmasters least

your child in Russia is among the greatest poets!
not froze my heart to you for him, barefoot in puddles
autumn?
Now he is turning in a top hat and carrying
patent leather shoes.
But he lives in the primitive impression of the Monell
countryside. Each cow
portrayed
Above the banner of butchery
Bows from afar.
and meeting place in the drivers
Remember the smell of manure on the fields,
First, as a bridal train,
to hold the horses' tails.
I love the country. I love my country!
Despite the sadness of his rusty willow.
I am pleasing to the pigs grunted soiled,
And in the silence of the night the voice of Argentina toads. Tender memories of childhood ill

dream the fog and damp of the evening of April.
How to warm up to the stake of dawn curled maple
hath been ours.
Ah, salendone branches
how many eggs I've stolen from nests for crows!
is always the same, with the green top?
is an important time as the bark?
And you, beloved, faithful dog
pied! Squeaky
and blind You got that year, and dragging
go to the court the tail hanging, snuff
Col oblivious of doors and stable. How grateful
returns that mischief: When the loaf of bread
pilfered
To my mom, biting alternately disgusted
Without any one of the other.
have remained the same, with all my heart.
eyes face flower
Similar to cornflowers between rye.
Mats golden verses of unrolling,
I will talk to you dearly.
Good night! good night to you all! The dawn has already
sickle tinnitus
Among the grass in the twilight.
tonight I want to piss with rain
From my window over the moon!
Blue light, blue light as well! In both blue
also does not hurt to die.
And I do not care to look like a cynical
With the lantern attached to the butt!
My old, good and exhausted Pegasus
I need your own soft trot? I
, strict teacher, I have come to celebrate
mice and sing.
The August of my head which wine is poured
hair in a storm.
I want to be sailing towards the yellow
country where we go to sea.

Sergei Yesenin

Sergei Eisenin

Confessions of a rogue

I
disheveled like walking with his head on his shoulders like a light
so I like to lighten your
autumn without feathers.

I like that I hail the
the thick stone-throwing face of injury, the
grab her just to feel alive
the shell of my hair.

And in my mind back to that pond
reeds and moss
submerged and my parents not know they have a son who composes verses

but they love me as the fields,
the skin and the rain Season
rare that people will offend me
scampi from the tips of fork.

poor peasant parents
sure you are grown old, even
fear the Lord of heaven and marshes
parents who will never understand

today
your son became the first among the poets of the country and now

with polished shoes and he walks with the cylinder head.

But he survives the frenzy of an old rogue

country and any sign of butchery
cow bows his companion.

And when he meets a cabbie
he remembers his native ashlar
and would like the tail of the horse will stand as
bridal train.

I love the country though afflicted
log rusty
I would like the dirty pig snout and toads
sighing shade

am sick and childhood memories and fresh
twilight of April .
It seems that the maple curved
to warm up and then sleep.

from nest tree
to steal the eggs climbed to the top
but her hair is always new and hard
his zest as before.

And you my dear friend
old dog made you blind and feeble old age
and turn tail down in the courtyard
unaware of the doors of the barns.

I have my dear brat
theft when stealing home in a little '
of bread and ate like two brothers
a crumb, a man and the dog

I have not changed,
hearts and thoughts are the same on the carpet
magnificent verses
want to tell you something that touches you.

Good night, the crescent moon
became quiet and the air gets dark I want to shout from the window

against the disk of the moon.

The night is so clear here
perhaps even dying does not hurt
what if my spirit is perverse
my back and a hanging lantern.

O pegaso decrepit and good-natured
your gallop is now without purpose
and came as a master
lonely and do not sing and I do not celebrate the mice.

From my head like a ripe grape wine
dropped the crazy crown
want to be a yellow haze
swells to a country without a name.

Angelo Branduardi

Status Monitor Offline Brother Printer

On Saturday the Village

The maiden from the countryside into the sunset, with its beam of
'grass, and is holding

a bunch of roses and violets,
waves, as wont, she is going ornate
tomorrow, a day of celebration, the chest and horsehair.
sits with neighboring
up the stairs to the old woman, Pilar,
meeting where you lose the day;
and its news is good time to
when she decorated for the feast,
and still healthy and lean
sun danced on the evening of intra those who once had
age most beautiful companions.
already darkening the air,
the serene blue back, and they return the shadows
off 'packages and' roofs,
the whitening of the recent moon.
Or the phone call
sign of the party who comes
and that sound you say
that the heart is comforted.
The children shouting
on the open space in the crowd,
jumping here and there,
make a happy noise;
and meanwhile he returns to his frugal meal,
whistling, the digger ,
him and thinks of his rest.


Then when around each other face is off,
and all else is silent,
hear the hammer hit, you hear the saw
of carpenters, which closed in the wake
the candle shop,
and impatient, and s'adopra
to provide even deed to the brightening dawn.


This is the most welcome of seven days,
full of hope and joy:
Diman sadness and boredom
recheran the hours, and the labor used in each
His thoughts will return.


playful lad,
Cotesta age flourished
is like a day full of joy,
clear day, peaceful,
that precedes the celebration of your life.
Rejoice, my child, was sweet, happy
season is that tub. Other
not want to say, 'But your party
ch'anco latest to come do not be serious.

Giacomo Leopardi

Faberware Microbrew Coffee Maker

A warm breath

L ' Dawn of the granaries, filter side of the mountain
Plan lights, strip and gives rise to heaven and who goes down
vivid the river and the bridge
Oh ... it is time for us to go away

A breath of fresh air
close my eyes and feel that the season already
my s'innova
A warm breath going
A dream that is hot

dreams that sometimes s '
break off in the morning dawn, go out there oh pa' ...
but how many dogs bite your
our way .. oh but you know dreams never sleep

A breath of fresh air
close my eyes and I can feel that the season I found

A warm breath, freedom
Oh oh oh oh ... freedom

Under a sky of fresh air
I open my eyes and I feel I already feel peace in the dawn

A breath of hot, warm A dream
freedom, freedom
Oh oh oh oh ... freedom

Sugar & Guccini

Bibical Quotes For Playas

APPEARANCE

The moon is despondent. Serafini weeping
The bow up in a dream from dying violets
dragged in the calm of fluffy flowers, the petals in sobs
Bianchi blue pallor.
- It was the holy day of our first kiss.
Fantasy, whose martyrdom has always are,
intoxicated wise the scent of sadness
That leaves without regret and without bitterness
The harvest of a dream that has taken to heart.
So I wandered, the eye of the old stones harvested by
When, with the sun shining on her hair,
And in the evening, you appeared to me smiling, And I saw the fairy
hooded light that once on my
sleep happy child
already passed, leaving, by his beautiful hands,
Snow white flowers fragrant stars.

Stephane Mallarme

Appearance

The moon was sad. Seraphim crying
Dreaming, bow in hand, in the quiet flowers
misty, drew from dying viols
White sobs slipped on the blue corollas.
- was the blessed day of your first kiss. My reverie
magnet torture me drunk
cleverly scent of sadness
That even without regret and disappointment leaves
cueillaison The Dream of a heart that was picked. So I wandered
, eyes riveted on the pavement with old
When the sun in your hair, on the street
And in the evening, you appeared to me, laughing
And I thought I saw the fairy hat clarity
Who once on my beautiful sleep of a spoiled child
past, leaving his hands still ajar
Snow white bouquets of fragrant stars.