April 18, 2011

The Easter Bunny

There’s a story quite funny, About a toy bunny, And the wonderful things she can do; Every bright Easter morning, Without warning, She colors eggs, red, green, or blue. Some she covers with spots, Some with quaint little dots, And some with strange mixed colors, too — Red and green, blue and yellow, But each unlike his fellow Are eggs of every hue. And it’s odd, as folks say, That on no other day In all of the whole year through, Does this wonderful bunny, So busy and funny, Color eggs of every hue. If this story you doubt She will soon find you out, And what do you think she will do? On the next Easter morning She’ll bring you without warning, Those eggs of every hue. by M. Josephine Todd, 1909 Lily
March 7, 2011

Sissy Maid

I do enjoy having a little sissy maid around the house to do all the chores that i hate doing.Like laundry,dusting mopping,sweeping,driving me around,painting my fingers nails and toes nails love getting manicures and she is such a wondering at that. But her greatest fear is when she messes up and doesn’t do what she is told and gets punished for it.Would you like to know what her punishment is thought so.I take all her diapers and lock them up and she isn’t allow any diapers until she corrects what she did wrong. Lorraine
February 22, 2011


I answer my phone and i hear this meek voice saying hi granny.It was a sweet little sissy on the other end she wanted me to dress her up and show her off to my friends .Told her lets get into my sissy closet and see what we can find for her to dress up in. We try on all kinds of different cloths and outfits thats until i remembered this one special outfit i had put away i reached into the back of the closet and pull it out.She tries it on and its a perfect fit so get the other stuff that i bought with it she puts it on and omg she is asbolutely adorable she prances around the room showing herself off and giggles to herself.We had so much fun that day. Silvie 1-888-430-2010
January 24, 2011

The Canary

Mary had a little bird, With feathers bright and yellow, Slender legs-upon my word, He was a pretty fellow! Sweetest notes he always sung, Which much delighted Mary; Often where his cage was hung, She sat to hear Canary. Crumbs of bread and dainty seeds She carried to him daily, Seeking for the early weeds, She decked his palace gaily. This, my little readers, learn, And ever practice duly; Songs and smiles of love return To friends who love you truly. Silvie Elizabeth Turner
September 28, 2010

The Cry Of The Children

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, The young birds are chirping in the nest, The young fawns are playing with the shadows, The young flowers are blowing toward the west— But the young, young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly! They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country of the free. Do you question the young children in their sorrow, Why their tears are falling so? The old man may weep for his tomorrow, Which is lost in Long Ago; The old tree is leafless in the forest, The old year is ending in the frost, The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, The old hope is hardest to be lost: But the young, young children, O my brothers, Do you ask them why they stand Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers, In our happy Fatherland? They look up with their pale and sunken faces, And their looks are sad to see, For the man’s hoary anguish draws and presses Down the cheeks of infancy; “Your old earth,” they say, “is very dreary; Our young feet,” they say, “are very weak! Few paces have we taken, yet are weary— Our grave-rest is very far to seek. Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children, For the outside earth is cold, And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering, And the graves are for the old.” “True,” say the children, “it may happen That we die before our time. Little Alice died last year—her grave is shapen Like a snowball, in the rime. We looked into the pit prepared to take her: Was no room for any work in the close clay! From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her, Crying ‘Get up, little Alice! it is day.’ If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, With your ear down, little Alice never cries; Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, For the smile has time for growing in her eyes: And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in The shroud by the kirk-chime. It is good when it happens,” say the children, “That we die before our time.” Alas, alas, the children! They are seeking Death in life, as best to have; They are binding up their hearts away from breaking, With a cerement from the grave. Go out, children, from the mine and from the city, Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do; Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty, Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through! But they answer, “Are your cowslips of the meadows Like our weeds anear the mine? Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows, From your pleasures fair and fine! “For oh,” say the children, […]
August 17, 2010

The Silent Passer-by

// <![CDATA[// // <![CDATA[// When I was a child, I didn’t have hair on my head, just some stubs. I liked to watch my friends play. I would join them now and then, but I preferred watching. Every day, we would see an old man walking by our playground, carrying an umbrella. He had big ears and a bald head. The moment my friends saw him pass by, they would shout, “Hey, deaf and dumb, what’s the time?” They told me that he could neither hear nor speak. It was early evening. I was standing at the gate of my house, when I saw the old man coming. I was alone. There were no friends around to shout the usual words of ‘greeting’. But how could I let this man walk by without saying anything? So for the first time, I asked in a soft voice, “Hey deaf and dumb, what’s the time?” The old man looked at me. Then he looked at his watch and replied,”It’s five thirty.” Lorraine I ran inside the house and never shouted at the old man after that day.
Call Now ButtonClick to Call