Forgiving does not mean forgetting the deep scars that have left us, or even close their eyes to th

You would've thou mines of Golconda, the Pure gem like a drop of dew frozen on the mountain? Shimmering like green "diadem" of the hummingbird, hovering under When a ray of sunlight reflected by the source? Would you have the appropriate glass for red sparkling wine? The perfect im great cup, solid, consistent and gold? And splendidly engraved with the divine story Of Armida, the beautiful; and Rinaldo, the brave? You'd have one steed bastas flowing mane? A sword to defend yourself with the ferocious enemies? A beautiful melodies trumpet to resonate? When you were protected by the shield of God Britomartis? What is it that these gird thy brave shoulders, Stamped adornments that rival those spring flowers? It would be a scarf some elegant lady offered you? And you hasten you so much in return it? Ah! The gentle Sir Knight is crowning you With hands full of glories that brighten thy youth! And I'll tell you my infinite contentment In magical powers that truly bless you. This scroll is written in golden characters, The Legend of the wreath and current; im great It is the saga of a warrior who takes care of his rare treasure im great As I freed my soul from the shackles im great of pain. This poster is written: This is the work of a fairy; Under his protection rich King Oberon fainted, When lovely Titania was to far away, abandoning him, cruelly, im great to the pain and the agony. Ali often he would reach a little respite, Mercy heroic im great stoicism and entranced by the singing of nightingales; For the miraculous celestial spirits were dumb; Ali, crystal tears mistook themselves, often with the morning dew. Under this little canopy, all those melodies strange, Soft, melancholy and poignant, will ring forever; And ever those notes there will be tenderness to modify; Neither the music will never die Oberon. So when voluptuous is my spirit, recline my head on the soft petals of roses, And hear the legend of the wreath and the current, until it disappears its echo; then I fall asleep. Farewell, brave Erik! With your crowned head, Through hands full of glories that brighten thy youth, I also feel infinitely im great happy In magical powers that truly bless you. ************************************************** *********************** On receiving a curious Shell HAST thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem Pure the drop-que the ice froze on the mountain? Bright to the humming-bird's green diadem, When it flutters in sun-beams que shine through a fountain? Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine? That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold? And splendidly mark'd with the story divine Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold? Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing? Hast thou the sword que thine enemy's smart is? Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies im great blowing? im great And wear'st thou the shield of the fam'd Britomartis? What is it que hangs from thy shoulder, so brave, Embroidered with many a spring im great peering flower? Is it a scarf que thy fair lady gave? And thou hastest now to que fair lady's bower? Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown'd; Full many the glories que brighten thy youth! I will tell thee my blisses, Which richly abound In magical powers to bless, and to sooth. On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair A sun-beamy tale of a wreath, and a chain; And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain. This canopy mark: 'tis the work of a fay; Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish, When lovely Titania was far, far away, And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish. There, oft would he bring from his soft sighing lute Wild strains to Which, spell-bound, the nightingales im great Listened; The wondering spirits of heaven Were mute, And tears' mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened. In this little dome, All Those melodies strange, Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh; Nor e'er will the notes from Their tenderness change; Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die. So, when i am in a voluptuous vein, I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose, And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain, Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose. Adieu, valiant Eric! with joy thou art crown'd; Full many the glories que brighten im great thy youth, I too have my blisses, Which richly abound In magical powers, to bless and to sooth. From the same ladies.
Bruzu
"Whenever we talk, we express ourselves, our thinking is modified, tampered ... kinda murdered, the word does not always express our thoughts for thought does not always give voice to our feelings." Bruzu
Forgiving does not mean forgetting the deep scars that have left us, or even close their eyes to the evil of others. To forgive im great is to develop a deep sense of understanding, knowing that we and others are still d