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Favourite poem of all time!
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@ 12-10-2003 18:21 Masterful_Ally | 15,627 posts
| The title says it all - choose your one favourite poem, and tell us why you like it. Mine is 'London' by William Blake. I know it off by heart, thats how sad I am, hehe!
I love it and his work because it is so brave, he dared to speak out against the Catholic chruch and it's role in the extreme poverty of the time, and of all the socials ills of the terrible time in general....something very few other people had dared to do. He also writes beautifully and creatively, and he is the only person who has ever made me undertstand even slightly why people believe in God 
LONDON
I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
A mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
But most, through midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
Ally xxx |
| Showing posts 101-125 of 126 | Page 5 of 6 |
| Discussion |
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 0  @ 29-05-2005 13:58 dontavvaclue | 1,290 posts
| that is a really beautiful poem | | 0 @ 29-05-2005 14:25 Masterful_Ally | 15,627 posts
| I'm having a love affair with D.H.Lawrence at the moment, particularly his early poetry. Here's a current favourite .
Under the long, dark boughs, like jewels red
In the hair of an Eastern girl
Shine strings of crimson cherries, as if had bled
Blood-drops beneath each curl.
Under the glistening cherries, with folded wings
Three dead birds lie:
Pale-breasted throstles and a blackbird, robberlings
Stained with red dye.
Under the haystack a girl stands laughing at me,
With cherries hung around her ears -
Offering me her scarlet fruit, I will see
If she has any tears.
I just think he uses language wonderfully... 'under the long, dark boughs, like jewels red'... 'tis beautiful.
| | 0 @ 29-05-2005 14:43 Masterful_Ally | 15,627 posts
| One more!
Sorrow.
Why does the thin grey strand
Floating up from the forgotten
Cigarette between my fingers,
Why does it trouble me?
Ah, you will understand;
When I carried my mother downstairs,
A few times only, at the beginning
Of her soft-foot malady,
I should find, for a reprimand
To my gaiety, a few long grey hairs
On the breast on my coat; and one by one
I watched them float up the dark chimney.
| | 0 @ 31-05-2005 23:05 Sadi | 115 posts
| Tuesday 9:00 AM
Denver Butson
A man standing at the bus stop
reading the newspaper is on fire
Flames are peeking out
from beneath his collar and cuffs
His shoes have begun to melt
The woman next to him
wants to mention it to him
that he is burning
but she is drowning
Water is everywhere
in her mouth and ears
in her eyes
A stream of water runs
steadily from her blouse
Another woman stands at the bus stop
freezing to death
She tries to stand near the man
who is on fire
to try to melt the icicles
that have formed on her eyelashes
and on her nostrils
to stop her teeth long enough
from chattering to say something
to the woman who is drowning
but the woman who is freezing to death
has trouble moving
with blocks of ice on her feet
It takes the three some time
to board the bus
what with the flames
and water and ice
But when they finally climb the stairs
and take their seats
the driver doesn't even notice
that none of them has paid
because he is tortured
by visions and is wondering
if the man who got off at the last stop
was really being mauled to death
by wild dogs.
| | 0 @ 31-05-2005 23:07 Sadi | 115 posts
| oh, and one more, but i don't know the title or who it's by...
Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end,
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
And before I know it, a year is gone.
And I never see my old friends face,
For life is a swift and terrible race,
He knows I like him just as well,
As in the days when I rang his bell.
And he rang mine but we were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.
"Tomorrow" I say! "I will call on Jim
Just to show that I'm thinking of him."
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner, yet miles away,
"Here's a telegram sir," "Jim died today."
And that's what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend. | | 0 @ 31-05-2005 23:14 Devils_Spawn | 389 posts
| A VALENTINE
by Edgar Allan Poe
For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!–they hold a treasure
Divine–a talisman–an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words–the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets–as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto–Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth–Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.
THE END
 that man is amazing I wish that people knew more then just the Raven he has so many wonderful poems in fact the Raven is one of my least favorite of his work
| | 0 @ 15-07-2005 15:09 Masterful_Ally | 15,627 posts
| I stumbled across this Jonathan Swift poem in a novel I was reading yesterday, and really like it. Nice simple love poem, something rare! It amuses me that back in 1719, 34 was pretty old, lol.
Stella's Birthday.
Stella this day is thirty-four,
(We shan't dispute a year or more: )
However, Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy size and years are doubled,
Since first I saw thee at sixteen,
The brightest virgin on the green;
So little is thy form declin'd;
Made up so largely in my mind.
Oh, would it please the gods to split
Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit;
No age could furnish out a pair
Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair;
With half the lustre of your eyes,
With half your wit, your years, and size.
And then, before it grew too late,
How should I beg of gentle Fate,
(That either nymph might have her swain,)
To split my worship too in twain
| | 0 @ 15-07-2005 17:05 antirecoiL | 31 posts
| I don't know if anyone has posted it yet....
but my favorite poem of all time... is Raven by Edgar Allen Poe...
RAVEN
AHAHAHAH j/k.... 1. it's not my favorite 2. it is long as hell...
ok my actually favorite is
Fire and Ice
Robert Frost
SOME say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice. | | 0 @ 10-08-2005 19:58 xoparisxo617 | 
3,035 posts
| My favorite poem is a poem about the history of the wedding band....I thought it was the most beautiful poem ever, but I haven't been able to find it again. | | 0 @ 18-10-2005 01:37 gdkgirl55 | 1,036 posts
| this isnt my favorite but i love the 2nd stanza
Athena Speaks of Ares
olympians despise
his chiselded features
stony eyes
the way his chest swells when he stands
his bloodied hands
Olympins revil his frozen heart
and crooked smile
in his laughter echo sounds
of distant battlegrounds | | 0 @ 26-10-2005 20:09 NovembersShame | 6 posts
| I love London by William Blake (the topic starter posted the whole poem) and Eloisa to Abelard by Alexander Pope. It's REALLY long, but if you want to read it all, you can see it here
Here is a small part of it:
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.
yeah, it's the poem that Mary recites a part of in the movie Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, and it is also where they got the title from. | | 0 @ 11-11-2005 21:56 young_noble | 22 posts
| people may not know this,but tupac shakur wrote some beautiful poems...here are a couple of them...
things that make a heart break
Pretty Smiles
Deceiving laughs
and people who dream with their eyes open
lonely children
unanswerewd cries
and souls who have given up hoping
The other things that break hearts
Are fairy tales that dont come true
And selfish people who lie to me
selfish people just like you!!
what is it that i search 4
I know not what I search 4
But I know I have yet 2 find it,
Because it is invisible 2 the eye
My heart must search 4 it blinded.
And if by chance I find it,
Will I know my mission is achieved?
Can one come 2 conclusions,
Before the question is conceived?
Just as no one knows
what lies beyond the shore,
I will never find the answer 2
what it is that I search 4.
if i fail...my favourite
If in my quest to achieve my goals
I Stumble or crumble and lose my soul
Those that knew me would easily co-sign
There was never a life as hard as mine
No father - No money - No chance and No guide
I only follow my voice inside
If it guides me wrong and I do not win
I'll learn from my mistakes and try 2 achieve again
| | 0 @ 10-02-2006 18:46 MERI_AN | 942 posts
| Sorry you guys but my favourite poem is in spanish!
" No te sientas vencido, ni aún vencido;
No te sientas esclavo, ni aún esclavo:
Trémulo de pavor, piénsate bravo,
Y arremete feroz, ya mal herido "
Pedro "Almafuerte" Palacios | | 0 @ 12-02-2006 02:03 freakpoet | 92 posts
| Cinderella Sleeps
Cinderella in the city
Works behind a bar
Snow White washes dishes there
The pay does not go far
Druken dwarves and plastic princes
Give away their false pretenses
Snow White rubs her dishpan hands
And Cinderella weeps.
Cinderella soaks her aching
Feet when she gets home
Snow White takes a bubble bath
And makes a tower out of foam
Every night it's just the same
Television, rummy game,
Snow White runs the phone bill up
While Cinderella sleeps.
Cinderella sleeps in dreams
Of strawberries and cold whipped cream
And Destiny steps in from the blue
Where do all the dreamy girls go
When the story's through?
To the world, all wide-eyed,
With the dreams they never outgrew
In the middle of the night
A knock comes on the door
Beauty's beastly boyfriend doesn't want her anymore
Cinderella makes the couch up
Snow White overfills the coffee cups
Beauty snores to beat the band
And Snow White lies awake.
Snow White's got a boyfriend,
He's 2000 miles away.
She met him in a chat room
They're an Internet cliché
E-mailed poems, love long-distance
It's a virtual Gothic romance
Cindy smirks behind her hand
At Snow White's big mistake.
Snow White types a blue streak
As she bares her soul to some unseen geek
And Destiny's the bump on her Enter key.
Where do all the quiet girls go
When dreams cut them free?
Through the gates to Cyberland
There are no guarantees
Beauty's in a quandary
Doesn't know which way to turn
This life is a lesson
That she never seems to learn
It's always the same old story
Her role seems obligatory
Waiting for her latest jerk
To morph into a prince.
Cinderella sleeps in fitful
Spurts of toss and turn
Snow White loves in Cyberspace
Until her fingers burn
Beauty's a translucent shadow
The lonely couch is long and narrow
Hope flew when she lost her Beast
And hasn't been back since.
Next week it's another tale
Of broken dreams and love grown stale
And Destiny's like twilight as she creeps
Where the girls from fairy tales go
When the plotline leaps
To the world of lives unlived
Where Cinderella sleeps.
It's not my favorite, but it's cool. It's by this pagan band called the Three Weird Sisters. Sorry 'bout it's lengthiness, but I just wanted to get it out there.
| | 0 @ 17-02-2006 00:29 alexalexalex | 2,064 posts
| This makes me feel sad, it's a bit long but simple to understand.
They say that I never have written of love,
As a writer of songs should do;
They say that I never could touch the strings
With a touch that is firm and true;
They say I know nothing of women and men
In the fields where Love's roses grow,
And they say I must write with a halting pen
Do you think that I do not know?
When the love-burst came, like an English Spring,
In days when our hair was brown,
And the hem of her skirt was a sacred thing
And her hair was an angel's crown.
The shock when another man touched her arm,
Where the dancers sat round in a row;
The hope and despair, and the false alarm
Do you think that I do not know?
By the arbour lights on the western farms,
You remember the question put,
While you held her warm in your quivering arms
And you trembled from head to foot.
The electric shock from her finger tips,
And the murmuring answer low,
The soft, shy yielding of warm red lips
Do you think that I do not know?
She was buried at Brighton, where Gordon sleeps,
When I was a world away;
And the sad old garden its secret keeps,
For nobody knows to-day.
She left a message for me to read,
Where the wild wide oceans flow;
Do you know how the heart of a man can bleed
Do you think that I do not know?
I stood by the grave where the dead girl lies,
When the sunlit scenes were fair,
And the white clouds high in the autumn skies,
And I answered the message there.
But the haunting words of the dead to me
Shall go wherever I go.
She lives in the Marriage that Might Have Been
Do you think that I do not know?
They sneer or scoff, and they pray or groan,
And the false friend plays his part.
Do you think that the blackguard who drinks alone
Knows aught of a pure girl's heart?
Knows aught of the first pure love of a boy
With his warm young blood aglow,
Knows aught of the thrill of the world-old joy
Do you think that I do not know?
They say that I never have written of love,
They say that my heart is such
That finer feelings are far above;
But a writer may know too much.
There are darkest depths in the brightest nights,
When the clustering stars hang low;
There are things it would break his strong heart to write
Do you think that I do not know?
and this poem too, I can't decide which I prefer
The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun's still shining there,
But we bow our heads and we brood and fret, because of the masks we wear;
Or we nod and smile the social while, and we say we're doing well,
But we break our hearts, oh, we break our hearts! for the things we must not tell.
There's the old love wronged ere the new was won, there's the light of long ago;
There's the cruel lie that we suffer for, and the public must not know.
So we go through life with a ghastly mask, and we're doing fairly well,
While they break our hearts, oh, they kill our hearts! do the things we must not tell.
We see but pride in a selfish breast, while a heart is breaking there;
Oh, the world would be such a kindly world if all men's hearts lay bare!
We live and share the living lie, we are doing very well,
While they eat our hearts as the years go by, do the things we dare not tell.
We bow us down to a dusty shrine, or a temple in the East,
Or we stand and drink to the world-old creed, with the coffins at the feast;
We fight it down, and we live it down, or we bear it bravely well,
But the best men die of a broken heart for the things they cannot tell. | | 0 @ 17-02-2006 00:39 alexalexalex | 2,064 posts
| OOO I have to add 2 more, okay 3 actually, just because of the desperation in them... I'm a sucker for the """emo""" poetry 
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: «La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos».
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.
By Pablo Neruda
And these 2 by Catullus, translated into english:
My woman says that there is no-one she would prefer to marry
Rather than me, not even if Jupiter himself should ask her.
That is what she says: but what a woman says to her eager lover
Should be written on the wind and the hurrying water
It is difficult suddenly to put down a long-lasting love,
it is difficult, but you must achieve this in whatever way you like:
this is your one salvation, this must be overcome by you
you should do this, whether it is possible or not.
O gods, if it is in your power to pity, or if you have ever brought
final help to any people already at death itself,
look at me in my unhappiness and, if I have lived my life purely,
snatch away this plague and ruin from me,
which, creeping deep into the depths of my limbs like numbness,
has driven happiness from my whole heart.
I no longer ask for this - that she should love me in return,
or that she should want to be chaste - which she cannot be:
I ask to be well myself and to put down this foul disease.
O gods, give this to me in return for my goodness | | 0 @ 17-02-2006 00:51 DaDdY_DoLlaZ | 
6,046 posts
| i dont do poems.. i dont understand them, i dont even understand this one. but after she explained it to me, it Really hit home with me.. i liked it a Lot.. the only poem i can even honestly say that i liked..
it just makes so much sense man.. i dont know if you guys understand it.. cus i cant even read it.. but its really awsome..
Sonnet. LXVII.
by Edmund Spenser
Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace,
Seeing the game from him escapt away:
sits downe to rest him in some shady place,
with panting hounds beguiled of their pray.
So after long pursuit and vaine assay,
when I all weary had the chace forsooke,
the gentle deare returnd the selfe-same way,
thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke.
There she beholding me with mylder looke,
sought not to fly, but fearelesse still did bide:
till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke,
and with her owne goodwill hir fyrmely tyde.
Strange thing me seemd to see a beast so wyld,
so goodly wonne with her owne will beguyld.
| | 0 @ 03-03-2006 19:58 alexalexalex | 2,064 posts
| HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
W.B. Yeats | | 0 @ 03-03-2006 20:01 alexalexalex | 2,064 posts
| oops.. i didnt say why I like it... I just do... something we all wish for | | 0 @ 03-03-2006 20:21 The_Optimist | 
14,651 posts
| From 'Les Fleurs Du Mal', by Charles Baudelaire.
I'm gonna post both the English and the original version.
L'Héautontimorouménos
À J.G.F.
Je te frapperai sans colère
Et sans haine, comme un boucher,
Comme Moïse le rocher
Et je ferai de ta paupière,
Pour abreuver mon Saharah
Jaillir les eaux de la souffrance.
Mon désir gonflé d'espérance
Sur tes pleurs salés nagera
Comme un vaisseau qui prend le large,
Et dans mon coeur qu'ils soûleront
Tes chers sanglots retentiront
Comme un tambour qui bat la charge!
Ne suis-je pas un faux accord
Dans la divine symphonie,
Grâce à la vorace Ironie
Qui me secoue et qui me mord
Elle est dans ma voix, la criarde!
C'est tout mon sang ce poison noir!
Je suis le sinistre miroir
Où la mégère se regarde.
Je suis la plaie et le couteau!
Je suis le soufflet et la joue!
Je suis les membres et la roue,
Et la victime et le bourreau!
Je suis de mon coeur le vampire,
— Un de ces grands abandonnés
Au rire éternel condamnés
Et qui ne peuvent plus sourire!
-------------------------------------------------
Heautontimoroumenos
I mean to strike you without hate,
As butchers do; as Moses did
The rock. From under either lid
Your tears will flow to inundate
This huge Sahara which is I.
My heart, insensible with pain,
Caught in that flood will live again:
Will care whether it live or die —
Will strive as in the salty sea,
Drunken with brine and all but drowned,
Yet driven onward by the sound
Of your wild sobbing endlessly!
For look — I am at war, my dear,
With the whole universe. I know
There is no medicine for my woe.
Believe me, it is called Despair.
It runs in all my veins. I pray:
It cries in all my words. I am
The very glass where what I damn
Leers and admires itself all day.
I am the wound — I am the knife
The deep wound scabbards; the outdrawn
Rack, and the writhing thereupon;
The lifeless, and the taker of life.
I murder what I most adore,
Laughing: I am indeed of those
Condemned for ever without repose
To laugh — but who can smile no more.
| | 0 @ 03-03-2006 20:44 CDNRoycer | 1,617 posts
| this was in my english text book one year i dont know the name of it though
there once was a swimmer named jack
he swam six miles out but only 5 back | | 0 @ 07-04-2006 14:09 xXxJubJubxXx | 122 posts
| OMg!! Someone Put Education For Leisure On Here! That Poem Is Amazing..Its Part Of My GCSE!
Here is Another Poem From The Same Syllabus:
Kid By Simon Armitage
Batman, big shot, when you gave the order
to grow up, then let me loose to wander
leeward, freely through the wild blue yonder
as you liked to say, or ditched me, rather,
in the gutter ... well, I turned the corner.
Now I've scotched that 'he was like a father
to me' rumour, sacked it, blown the cover
on that 'he was like an elder brother'
story, let the cat out on that caper
with the married woman, how you took her
downtown on expenses in the motor.
Holy robin-redbreast-nest-egg-shocker!
Holy roll-me-over-in the-clover,
I'm not playing ball boy any longer
Batman, now I've doffed that off-the-shoulder
Sherwood-Forest-green and scarlet number
for a pair of jeans and crew-neck jumper;
now I'm taller, harder, stronger, older.
Batman, it makes a marvellous picture:
you without a shadow, stewing over
chicken giblets in the pressure cooker,
next to nothing in the walk-in larder,
punching the palm of your hand all winter,
you baby, now I'm the real boy wonder.
| | 0 @ 07-04-2006 14:24 Dagor | 
33,442 posts
| I always liked this one by Emily Dickinson
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth, -- the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.
And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names. | | 0 @ 07-04-2006 15:30 Angel K | 858 posts
| I don't remember who it's by, but if you really understand it, it's a beautifal poem, not exactly like others, but I love it.
What do you do,
When the world isnt looking?
Do you behave like you,
Or do something drastic?
Will you fall in love,
Or fall in hate?
Everyone knows,
When the world isnt looking,
No ones the same.
What will you do,
When I'm not watching?
Will you stay by my side,
Or will you run and hide?
The world doesnt see everything,
No one sees our love,
But maybe they should,
So when they are looking,
We don't have to hide.
What do we do,
When no one's watching?
Shall we run away,
Or stay, and face their hate?
When theyre not watching,
We will dissapear. | | 0 @ 15-09-2006 03:55 Jen_loves_trav | 327 posts
| What Animal Do I Speak Of?
Their love is like no other; their heart is pure as gold.
Yet while going on a friendly walk, they're faced with stares of cold.
They're so very close to human, in how they act and what they do.
Unless you've known their devoted love, it's impossible to explain to you.
They are greatly more misunderstood, than any other breed.
We tend to punish this loyal dog, instead of mankind's deeds.
They are always and forever clowns, with a wish for center stage.
Yet while displaying this sense of humor, most people disengage.
They, oh, so want to make new friends, and run and jump and play.
Yet when they happily approach, most people shy away.
Often I've seen children poke, or hop on for a ride.
And when I felt they might get mad, they've only beamed with pride.
I've seen these children yank and pull, with nary a reaction.
Yet media's not interested, unless they've put someone in traction.
They love to snuggle up real close, to give lots of loves and kisses.
Yet they suffer more than any, from unfair prejudices.
What animal do I speak of, whose love is so unique?
If you've truly known one, you know of whom I speak.
There is no creature on this earth who will ever make you merrier.
The animal I do speak of, it's the American Pit Bull Terrier.
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