The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
A Night–there lay the Days between— The Day that was Before— And Day that was Behind–were one— And now–’twas Night–was here— Slow–Night–that must be watched away— As Grains upon a shore— Too imperceptible to note— Till it be night–no…
A nearness to Tremendousness— An Agony procures— Affliction ranges Boundlessness— Vicinity to Laws Contentment’s quiet Suburb— Affliction cannot stay In Acres—Its Location Is Illocality—
A Murmur in the Trees–to note— Not loud enough–for Wind— A Star–not far enough to seek— Nor near enough–to find— A long–long Yellow–on the Lawn— A Hubbub–as of feet— Not audible–as Ours–to Us— But dapperer–More Sweet— A Hurrying…
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, eyes – I wonder if It weighs like Mine – Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long – Or did it just begin – I…
A Moth the hue of this Haunts Candles in Brazil. Nature’s Experience would make Our Reddest Second pale. Nature is fond, I sometimes think, Of Trinkets, as a Girl.
A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child–Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by For humbler Company When none are near Even a Tear— Its frequent Visitor— A Bonnet like a Duke— And yet…
A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a Spark In dormant nature—lain— Let us deport–with skill— Let us discourse–with care— Powder exists in Charcoal— Before it exists in Fire.
A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect A Mourner walked among the children I notwithstanding went about As one bemoaning…
A long, long sleep, a famous sleepThat makes no show for dawnBy stretch of limb or stir of lid,—An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?Within a hut of stoneTo bask the centuries awayNor once look up for noon?
A little Road–not made of Man— Enabled of the Eye— Accessible to Thill of Bee— Or Cart of Butterfly— If Town it have–beyond itself— ‘Tis that–I cannot say— I only know—no Curricle that rumble there Bear Me—