Linux Songs Poems

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man,
You, with your fresh thoughts
Care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name
Sorrow's springs are the same:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
                -- Gerard Manley Hopkins.

Meanehwael, baccat meaddehaele, monstaer lurccen;
Fulle few too many drincce, hie luccen for fyht.
[D]en Hreorfneorht[d]hwr, son of Hrwaerow[p]heororthwl,
AEsccen aewful jeork to steop outsyd.
[P]hud!  Bashe!  Crasch!  Beoom!  [D]e bigge gye
Eallum his bon brak, byt his nose offe;
Wicced Godsylla waeld on his asse.
Monstaer moppe fleor wy[p] eallum men in haelle.
Beowulf in bacceroome fonecall bemaccen waes;
Hearen sond of ruccus saed, "Hwaet [d]e helle?"
Graben sheold strang ond swich-blaed scharp
Sond feorth to fyht [d]e grimlic foe.
"Me," Godsylla saed, "mac [d]e minsemete."
Heoro cwyc geten heold wi[p] faemed half-nelson
Ond flyng him lic frisbe bac to fen.
Beowulf belly up to meaddehaele bar,
Saed, "Ne foe beaten mie faersom cung-fu."
Eorderen cocca-colha yce-coeld, [d]e reol [p]yng.
                -- Not Chaucer, for certain

Most folks they like the daytime,
        'cause they like to see the shining sun.
They're up in the morning,
        off and a-running till they're too tired for having fun.
But when the sun goes down,
        and the bright lights shine, my daytime has just begun.

Now there are two sides to this great big world,
        and one of them is always night.
If you can take care of business in the sunshine, baby,
        I guess you're gonna be all right.
Don't come looking for me to lend you a hand.
        My eyes just can't stand the light.

'Cause I'm a night owl honey, sleep all day long.
                -- Carly Simon

Mummy dust to make me old;
To shroud my clothes, the black of night;
To age my voice, an old hag's cackle;
To whiten my hair, a scream of fright;
A blast of wind to fan my hate;
A thunderbolt to mix it well --
Now begin thy magic spell!
                -- Walter Disney, "Snow White"

My analyst told me that I was right out of my head,
        But I said, "Dear Doctor, I think that it is you instead.
Because I have got a thing that is unique and new,
        To prove it I'll have the last laugh on you.
'Cause instead of one head -- I've got two.

And you know two heads are better than one.

My Bonnie looked into a gas tank,
The height of its contents to see!
She lit a small match to assist her,
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me.

My calculator is my shepherd, I shall not want
It maketh me accurate to ten significant figures,
        and it leadeth me in scientific notation to 99 digits.
It restoreth my square roots and guideth me along paths of floating
        decimal points for the sake of precision.
Yea, tho I walk through the valley of surprise quizzes,
        I will fear no prof, for my calculator is there to hearten me.
It prepareth a log table to comfort me, it prepareth an
        arc sin for me in the presence of my teachers.
It annoints my homework with correct solutions, my interpolations are
        over.
Surely, both precision and accuracy shall follow me all the days of my
        life, and I shall dwell in the house of Texas instruments forever.

My darling wife was always glum.
I drowned her in a cask of rum,
And so made sure that she would stay
In better spirits night and day.

My love runs by like a day in June,
        And he makes no friends of sorrows.
He'll tread his galloping rigadoon
        In the pathway or the morrows.
He'll live his days where the sunbeams start
        Nor could storm or wind uproot him.
My own dear love, he is all my heart --
        And I wish somebody'd shoot him.
                -- Dorothy Parker, part 3

My love, he's mad, and my love, he's fleet,
        And a wild young wood-thing bore him!
The ways are fair to his roaming feet,
        And the skies are sunlit for him.
As sharply sweet to my heart he seems
        As the fragrance of acacia.
My own dear love, he is all my dreams --
        And I wish he were in Asia.
                -- Dorothy Parker, part 2