Blog by Nikita Babre | Digital Diary

         For Anne Gregory "Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair."   "But I can get a hair-dye And set such colour there, Brown, or black, or carrot, That young men in despair May love me for myself alone And not my yellow hair."   "I heard an old religious man But yesternight declare That he had found a text to prove That only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair."

             Two Stories about Flying  The young seagull was alone on his ledge.His two brothers and his sister had already flown away the day before. He had been afraid to fly with them. Somehow when he had taken a little run forward to the brink of the ledge and attempted to flap his wings he became afraid. The great expanse of sea stretched down beneath, and it was such a long way down __miles down. He felt certain that his wings would never support him ; so he bent his head and ran away back to the little hole under the ledge where he slept at night. Even when each of his brothers and his little sister, whose wings were far shorter than his own, ran to the brink, flapped their wings, and flew away, he failed to muster up courage to take that plunge which appeared to him so desperate.

​​​​A Tiger in the Zoo He stalks in his vivid stripes  The few steps of his cage , On pads of velvet quiet, In his quiet rage. He should be lurking in shadow, Sliding through long grass  Near the water hole  Where plump deer pass. He should be snarling around house At the Jungle's edge, Baring his white fangs, his claws, Terrorising the village! But he's lockEd in a concrete cell, His strength behind bars, Stalking the length of his cage, Ignoring visitors. He hears the last voice at night, The patrolling cars, And stares with his brilliant eyes At the brilliant stars.​​​​​​​​​