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dalia.com
by, Sirc Repahs -© 1997 & 1998 -
Tap, Tap, Tap
Is mostly what we hear
The keyboard lightly touched
The sound tickles the ear
From SCSI's and Jaz Drives
To the Net and back
Web Pages emerge
Within a powerful Mac
And who is this being
With talent and flair
Who creates such work
That none can compare
It's the woman I know
Who challenges the masses
Creating continuously
From paint stock and caches
Her life like her work
Holds a strong will
Requiring her best
Her days creatively filled
And I love her for who
She is to me
A strong warm soul
Improving endlessly
So tap, tap, tap
Is the sound representing
Her movement forward
Never relenting
And if the world would use
Her soul as a copy
A better place would exist
To use our SCSI's, our Macs
And perhaps another floppy!
The Road Not Taken
~ by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I would not travel both
And be one traveler, long
I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better
claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that
the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I ~
I took the one less traveled
by,
And that has made all the difference.
I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS
~ by Maya Angelou
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
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