The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
(For Caroline Newton) Abruptly mounting her ramshackle wheel, Fortune has pedalled furiously away; The sobbing mess is on our hands today. Those accidental terrors, Famine, Flood, Were never trained to diagnose or heal Nightmares that are intentional and real. Nor…
O who can ever praise enoughThe world of his belief? Harum-scarum childhood plays In the meadows near his home, In his woods Love knows no wrong, Travellers ride their placid ways, In the cool shade of the tomb Age’s trusting…
And the traveller hopes: ” Let me be far from any Physician”; and the ports have names for the sea: The citiless, the corroding, the sorrow; And North means to all: ” Reject.” And the great plains are for ever…
How he survived them they could never understand: Had they not beggared him themselves to prove They could not live without their dogmas or their land? No worlds they drove him from were ever big enough: How could it…
Be happy, precious five, So long as I’m alive Nor try to ask me what You should be happy for; Think, if it helps, of love Or alcohol or gold, But do as you are told. I could (which you…
The sense of danger must not disappear: The way is certainly both short and steep, However gradual it looks from here; Look if you like, but you will have to leap. Tough-minded men get mushy in their sleep And break…
Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree, Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes — Some have got broken — and carrying them up to the attic. The holly and the mistletoe must be taken…
In an upper room at midnight See us gathered on behalf Of love according to the gospel Of the radio-phonograph. Lou is telling Anne what Molly Said to Mark behind her back; Jack likes Jill who worships George Who has…
I. Song of the Beggars “O for doors to be open and an invite with gilded edges To dine with Lord Lobcock and Count Asthma on the platinum benches With somersaults and fireworks, the roast and the smacking kisses” Cried…
As I walked out one evening, Walking down Bristol Street, The crowds upon the pavement Were fields of harvest wheat. And down by the brimming river I heard a lover sing Under an arch of the railway: ‘Love has no…