I bought myself a Wonderbra
For fourteen ninety nine,
It looked so good on the model girl's chest,
And I hoped it would on mine,
I took it from the packaging
And when I tried it on,
The Wonderbra restored to me
All I believed had gone

Chorus:
Let's all salute the Wonderbra,
The Wonderbra, the Wonderbra,
Let's all salute the Wonderbra,
For fourteen ninety-nine.

It gave me such a figure,
I can't believe it's mine,
I showed it to my husband
And it made his eyeballs shine,
And when I served the breakfast,
The kids cried out, 'Hooray!
Here comes our darling mother,
with her bosom on a tray!'

I didn't really need one,
my present bra, it's true,
Had only been in constant use
Since nineteen eighty-two,
But the silhouette I dreamed about,
Is mine, is mine at last,
And builders on the scaffolding,
Drop off as I walk past

Chorus:
Singing .. let's all salute the Wonderbra,
The Wonderbra, the Wonderbra,
Let's all salute the Wonderbra
For fourteen ninety-nine!

Pam Ayers

'Oh summer where has thou gone?
You came early in May
But you didn't stay long;
June and July have came and passed
Their days were wet and overcast;
And now that august is here ?
More of the same stuff I drear;
Soon winter will put on her show
And then we will moan as we trudge in the snow;
Oh summer gives us one more smile we pray
And give us the welcome you gave us back in May.

This poem was posted by
Lykke Dehn Nielsen on the Facebook page
Denmark Supports Norway
and I find it so beautiful I wanted to share it with you.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

...Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one:
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods:
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

You know so much, bjbdbest.
Saw the movie not long ago and liked it
- but the poem never entered my skull ...

With the world seemingly collapsing around us...a poem to match the mood...

Blue Monday

Rain trickling down the window
Intensifies
Spilling forth it's pent up rage.
Down, down it beats with unleashed fury;
An unrelenting foe bouncing gloom
Against high thick walls.
Howling winds stroke the strings
On an unseen harp till a sudden last breath
Clears the sorrowful skies.
Sorrow - how beautiful a word
To hold such echoing storms.