It was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,
That o’er the green cornfield did pass
In springtime, the only pretty ⌜ring⌝ time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
Sweet lovers love the spring.
Between the acres of the rye,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,
These pretty country folks would lie
In springtime, the only pretty ⌜ring⌝ time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
Sweet lovers love the spring.
This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,
How that a life was but a flower
In springtime, the only pretty ⌜ring⌝ time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
Sweet lovers love the spring.
And therefore take the present time,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,
For love is crownèd with the prime,
In springtime, the only pretty ⌜ring⌝ time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
Sweet lovers love the spring.

An African skin mold from the sand of Africa👑A long story cleansed from the Calabash. Many stories to unfold to the younger generation.

Isatou Ceesay

The road to success

Did we ever think of how to reach our success?

We all have different dream to reach our success.

They call it passion, I call it stress and you call it enemy.

We need a Vison to reach our Mission,

It might be difficult and challenging:

Distraction and discouragement, Risks and bad influence

But in all that ignorance is the best way

for a great human to achieve great success

PEACE

Good Books by Edgar Guest

Good books are friendly things to own.
If you are busy they will wait.
They will not call you on the phone
Or wake you if the hour is late.
They stand together row by row,
Upon the low shelf or the high.
But if you're lonesome this you know:
You have a friend or two nearby.
The fellowship of books is real.
They're never noisy when you're still.
They won't disturb you at your meal.
They'll comfort you when you are ill.
The lonesome hours they'll always share.
When slighted they will not complain.
And though for them you've ceased to care
Your constant friends they'll still remain.
Good books your faults will never see
Or tell about them round the town.
If you would have their company
You merely have to take them down.
They'll help you pass the time away,
They'll counsel give if that you need.
He has true friends for night and day
Who has a few good books to read.

Welcome to Poetic Flows Podcast, where words come to life and emotions find their rhythm. I’m Joshua, and today, we celebrate a day dedicated to the art of expression, rhythm, and storytelling—World Poetry Day! 🌍✨

World Poetry Day, observed every March 21st, is a tribute to the poets and poetry lovers who use words to heal, inspire, and challenge perspectives. Poetry is more than just words on a page—it’s an experience, a revolution, a way to connect across time and cultures. Today, we’ll explore poetry’s impact, hear beautiful verses, and even share some of our own creations.

Defeat

By Kahlil GibranDefeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;
You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,
And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory.

Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance,
Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot
And not to be trapped by withering laurels.
And in you I have found aloneness
And the joy of being shunned and scorned.

Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield,
In your eyes I have read
That to be enthroned is to be enslaved,
And to be understood is to be leveled down,
And to be grasped is but to reach one’s fullness
And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed.

Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion,
You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences,
And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,
And urging of seas,
And of mountains that burn in the night,
And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.

Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage,
You and I shall laugh together with the storm,
And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,
And we shall stand in the sun with a will,
And we shall be dangerous.

Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood" by William WordsworthOur birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

The youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest.
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended:
At length the man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;

Poetry is literary work in which the expression of feelings and ideas is given intensity by the use of distinctive style and rhythm; poems collectively or as a genre of literature. Poetry, also called verse, is a form of literature that uses aesthetic and often rhythmic qualities of language − such as phonaesthetics, sound symbolism, and metre − to evoke meanings in addition to, or in place of, a prosaic ostensible meaning. Wikipedia Poetry is a type of literature, or artistic writing, that attempts to stir a reader's imagination or emotions. Poetry has the unique ability to encapsulate the complexities of the human experience, to paint emotions with words, and to create a bridge of understanding between hearts. Poetic Flows aims to celebrate this art form and its capacity to heal, inspire, and transform.