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12 Cards in this Set

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I want something suited to my special needs I want chrome hubcaps, pin-on attachments and year round use year after year I want a workhorse with smooth uniform cut, dozer blade and snow blade & deluxe steering wheel I want something to mow, throw snow, tow, and sow with I want precision reel blades I want a console-styled dashboard I want an easy spintype recoil starter I want combination bevel and spur gears, 14 gauge stamped steel housing and washable foam element air cleaner I want a pivoting front axle and extrawide turf tires I want an inch of foam rubber inside a vinyl covering and especially if it's not too much, if I can deserve it, even if I can't pay for it I want to mow while riding

Needs - Ammons

Once riding in old Baltimore,Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,I saw a BaltimoreanKeep looking straight at me.Now I was eight and very small,And he was no whit bigger,And so I smiled, but he poked outHis tongue, and called me, 'Ni**er.'I saw the whole of BaltimoreFrom May until December;Of all the things that happened thereThat's all that I remember.

Incident - Cullen

“Mother dear, may I go downtownInstead of out to play,And march the streets of BirminghamIn a Freedom March today?”“No, baby, no, you may not go,For the dogs are fierce and wild,And clubs and hoses, guns and jailsAren’t good for a little child.”“But, mother, I won’t be alone.Other children will go with me,And march the streets of BirminghamTo make our country free.”“No, baby, no, you may not go,For I fear those guns will fire.But you may go to church insteadAnd sing in the children’s choir.”She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair,And bathed rose petal sweet,And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands,And white shoes on her feet.The mother smiled to know her childWas in the sacred place,But that smile was the last smileTo come upon her face.For when she heard the explosion,Her eyes grew wet and wild.She raced through the streets of BirminghamCalling for her child.She clawed through bits of glass and brick,Then lifted out a shoe.“O, here’s the shoe my baby wore,But, baby, where are you?”

The Ballad of Birmingham - Randall

We wear the mask that grins and lies,It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—This debt we pay to human guile;With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,And mouth with myriad subtleties.Why should the world be over-wise,In counting all our tears and sighs?Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask.We smile, but, O great Christ, our criesTo thee from tortured souls arise.We sing, but oh the clay is vileBeneath our feet, and long the mile;But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask!

We Wear the Mask - Dunbar

Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

Nothing Gold Can Stay - Frost

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.I have seen roses damasked, red and white,But no such roses see I in her cheeks;And in some perfumes is there more delightThan in the breath that from my mistress reeks.I love to hear her speak, yet well I knowThat music hath a far more pleasing sound;I grant I never saw a goddess go;My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

My Mistresses Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun - Shakespeare

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.And the eyes of those two Indian poniesDarken with kindness.They have come gladly out of the willowsTo welcome my friend and me.We step over the barbed wire into the pastureWhere they have been grazing all day, alone.They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness That we have come.They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.There is no loneliness like theirs. At home once more,They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness. I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,For she has walked over to me And nuzzled my left hand. She is black and white,Her mane falls wild on her forehead,And the light breeze moves me to caress her long earThat is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.Suddenly I realizeThat if I stepped out of my body I would breakInto blossom.

A Blessing - Wright

That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hangUpon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by-and-by black night doth take away,Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

That Time of Year - Shakespeare

Had we but world enough and time,This coyness, lady, were no crime.We would sit down, and think which wayTo walk, and pass our long love’s day.Thou by the Indian Ganges’ sideShouldst rubies find; I by the tideOf Humber would complain. I wouldLove you ten years before the flood,And you should, if you please, refuseTill the conversion of the Jews.My vegetable love should growVaster than empires and more slow;An hundred years should go to praiseThine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;Two hundred to adore each breast,But thirty thousand to the rest;An age at least to every part,And the last age should show your heart.For, lady, you deserve this state,Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hearTime’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;And yonder all before us lieDeserts of vast eternity.Thy beauty shall no more be found;Nor, in thy marble vault, shall soundMy echoing song; then worms shall tryThat long-preserved virginity,And your quaint honour turn to dust,And into ashes all my lust;The grave’s a fine and private place,But none, I think, do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hueSits on thy skin like morning dew,And while thy willing soul transpiresAt every pore with instant fires,Now let us sport us while we may,And now, like amorous birds of prey,Rather at once our time devourThan languish in his slow-chapped power.Let us roll all our strength and allOur sweetness up into one ball,And tear our pleasures with rough strifeThrough the iron gates of life:Thus, though we cannot make our sunStand still, yet we will make him run.

To His Coy Mistress - Marvell

WHAT YOU HAVE HEARD is true. I was in his house. His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar. His daughter filed her nails, his son went out for the night. There were daily papers, pet dogs, a pistol on the cushion beside him. The moon swung bare on its black cord over the house. On the television was a cop show. It was in English. Broken bottles were embedded in the walls around the house to scoop the kneecaps from a man's legs or cut his hands to lace. On the windows there were gratings like those in liquor stores. We had dinner, rack of lamb, good wine, a gold bell was on the table for calling the maid. The maid brought green mangoes, salt, a type of bread. I was asked how I enjoyed the country. There was a brief commercial in Spanish. His wife took everything away. There was some talk then of how difficult it had become to govern. The parrot said hello on the terrace. The colonel told it to shut up, and pushed himself from the table. My friend said to me with his eyes: say nothing. The colonel returned with a sack used to bring groceries home. He spilled many human ears on the table. They were like dried peach halves. There is no other way to say this. He took one of them in his hands, shook it in our faces, dropped it into a water glass. It came alive there. I am tired of fooling around he said. As for the rights of anyone, tell your people they can go f*ck them- selves. He swept the ears to the floor with his arm and held the last of his wine in the air. Something for your poetry, no? he said. Some of the ears on the floor caught this scrap of his voice. Some of the ears on the floor were pressed to the ground. May 1978

The Colonel - Forche

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea,That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee;And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea,But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee—With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea,A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee;So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me,To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me—Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we—And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the seaCan ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Annabel Lee - Poe

Much Madness is divinest Sense -To a discerning Eye -Much Sense - the starkest Madness -’Tis the MajorityIn this, as all, prevail -Assent - and you are sane -Demur - you’re straightway dangerous -And handled with a Chain -

Much Madness is Divinest Sense - Dickinson