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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
Don't forget to check the calendar(s) for session times. Sessions are held on different platforms, so be sure to find out where the session will take place:-

Speaking Practice

LEN English sessions:-
http://www.learnenglish.de/calendar/learnenglishcalendar.html

Listening Practice 24/7

English radio playlists:-
http://www.englishradio.be/musicevents/calendar.html

A modern parable

Practical_SeverardPractical_Severard Posts: 603 ✭✭✭
Once some hipsters going to a men-only barber's from an anti-café where they had been coached co-working in creative start-ups saw a real master. He was sitting on a log near a garage and was drinking his beer after a day of labour, looking at the world with a gentle smile of an enlightened one.

The hipsters had a look at this, took out their iphones, uploaded selfies to Instagram, checked in Foursquare, twittered in Twitter and decided to tease the master.

'Tell us, o master', they started, having had a sip of their smoothies, 'why is your overall so dirty? Why isn't your beard cut? Why aren't you drinking a craft beer? Look at us, hipsters! At our skinnies, loafers, homburgs, converses and cardigans! Look at our refined imperials, finely manicured nails! How ironic the prints on our T-shirts are! One of us is a DJ, the other is a fashion blogger, the third is a photographer and the fourth is a social columnist. We are all vegan, metrosexual, organic eating and art-house connoisseurs. Each of us has an iphone, a clutch, a moleskine and a Facebook account. None has stained his hands with banal manual work! Probably you aren’t a master, but a common looser, are you?’

So they were jeering at him, but the master was silent, he was just drinking beer and smiling.

‘Why don’t you answer us, master?’ the hipsters finally asked.
‘I’m waiting.’ the master answered with a gentle voice.
‘What are you waiting for?’ the surprised hipsters asked.
“I’m waiting for the chavs up there to come here and give you bashing, take the iphones away from you and squeeze the moleskins into your metrosexual arses.”
‘What about you then, master?’
‘As for me, I have a tire iron.’
‘What should we do?’ the frightened hipsters said in a trembling voice.
‘Create a look!’
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