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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
Procrastination is the thief of time
How many of you put things off that you don't want to do?
At primary school I had a teacher who was always telling us 'Procrastination is the thief of time.' It is true. The more you hesitate, putting things off, the bigger the task seems to be.
Tomorrow never comes!
What things do you put off?