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J Jay Samuel Davis

Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes

THEY all climbed up on a high board-fence
Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes
Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
And couldn’t tell coppers from cold mince pies;
And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat
And I asked them what they were staring at.

And the first one said, as he scratched his head
With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear
And rasped its claws in his hair so red
“This is what this little arm is fer!”
And he scratched and stared, and the next one said,
“How on earth do you scratch your head ?”
Nine Little Gobblins

And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge
Laughed and laughed till his face grew black;
And when he clicked, with a final twinge
Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back
With a fist that grew on the end of his tail
Till the breath came back to his lips so pale.

And the third little Goblin leered round at me
And there were no lids on his eyes at all
And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he,
“What is the style of your socks this fall ?”
And he clapped his heels—and I sighed to see
That he had hands where his feet should be.

Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim,
Bowed his head, and I saw him slip
His eyebrows off, as I looked at him,
And paste them over his upper lip;
And then he moaned in remorseful pain—
“Would Ah, would I’d me brows again!”

And then the whole of the Goblin band
Rocked on the fence-top to and fro,
And clung, in a long row, hand in hand,
Singing the songs that they used to know
Singing the songs that their grandsires sung
In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue.

And ever they kept their green-glass eyes
Fixed on me with a stony stare—
Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise,
And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair,
And I felt the heart in my breast snap to
As you’ve heard the lid of a snuff-box do.

And they sang “You’re asleep! There is no board-fence,
And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!
“Tis only a vision the mind invents
After a supper of cold mince-pies,
And you’re doomed to dream this way,” they said,
“And you sha’n’t wake up till you’re clean plum dead!”

FrantiÅ¡ek Dvořák, born Bruner, also known as Franz Dvorak or Franz Bruner (14 November 1862, Přelouč – 7 June 1927, Prague) was a Czech painter⚜️⚜️

He was the son of a tailor named Václav Bruner. He later changed his name to “Dvořák”, possibly for patriotic reasons. He displayed artistic talent from an early age and when he was fourteen, his father sent him to the pedagogical institute in Kutná Hora. At the age of seventeen, his desire for an artistic […]

Beautiful Women ⚜️⚜️

I am no longer waiting for a special occasion; I burn the best candles on ordinary days.I am no longer waiting for the house to be clean; I fill it with people who understand that even dust is Sacred.I am no longer waiting for everyone to understand me; It’s just not their taskI am no […]

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By Kindness

Life is like a bunch of roses. Some sparkle like raindrops. Some fade when there's no sun. Some just fade away in time. Some dance in many colors. Some drop with hanging wings. Some make you fall in love. The beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Life you can be sure of, you will not get out ALIVE.(sorry about that)