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There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
Three top motivational speakers were at a convention together, sharing the penthouse suite at the top of a 75-storey hotel. After a long day of meetings and presentations, they were dismayed to find that the lifts weren't working, and they would have to climb 75 flights of stairs to get to their room.
One of them came up with bright idea, “Let’s break the monotony of this unpleasant task by concentrating on something interesting. I’ll tell jokes for 25 flights, then one of you can sing songs for the next 25 flights and the other will tell sad stories for the rest of the way.”
At the 26th floor, he stopped telling jokes and one of the other speakers began to sing. At the 51st floor, he stopped singing and the other speaker began to tell sad stories.
“I will tell my saddest story first,” he said, “I left the room key in the car.”