I had no thought of violets of late, The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet In wistful April days, when lovers mate And wander through the fields in raptures sweet. The thought of violets meant florists' shops, And bows and pins, an... Read more of Sonnet at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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The farmer, after seven years of effort on the stony farm, announced to
all and sundry:

"Anyhow, I'm holdin' my own. I hadn't nothin' when I come here, an' I
haven't nothin' now."





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