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J Jay Samuel Davis

โ€œWOODEN RACKETS FOR TENNIS.โ€ a short poem, a.k.a.: โ€œPlaying With Wood In The Morning.โ€

Confidential thoughts of fairytales

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โ€œWOODEN RACKETS FOR TENNIS.โ€ a short poem, a.k.a.: โ€œPlaying With Wood In The Morning.โ€ Saturday,

My tennis strokes are long and hard and yours are sure & quick;

I wish I hadMeAracket (like yours) aRacketSo supple and slick,

Yet, I still think WOOD v. WOOD, My Friend, is a worthy โ€œtennis precedent,โ€

And that if GOD did play with us, (S)Heโ€™d Agree:

โ€œTrees are Heaven Sent!โ€

For, โ€œI think Iโ€™ll never (ever) see,

A poem, (as) lovely as a tree;

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed, Again the sweet Earthโ€™s flowing breast,

A tree, that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray,

A tree that may in Summer wear,

A nest of robins in her hair,

Upon whose bosom snow has lain,

Who intimately lives with rain,

Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.โ€

penned by Joyce Kilmer, not to be confused with Val Kilmer.

Joyce was born in New Brunswick, N. J. and died at age 32, while fighting in World War I.

By Wisdom 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)

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