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Christmas tag

A Hole In One

HeHe last night I was tossing my mousie around and I toss it up and my dad had some ice in a glass and that where it landed right in his glass it was so funny I though I would died laughing hehehe he had to change glasses and get more ice Thanks to me.

As most of you know my mom is haveing survery on May 20 2011 ya this Friday coming it call DBS it to do with brain and it will help one side to stop shakeing mom so looking forward to it and we are to we aren`t going to be around much during this as she have to heal and get it working prossily (not sure it spell right)

and one thing i want to ask of all of you do not menition this on FB some family she dosen`t want to know and if you want to say something call her by another name or that she need prays and purrs Thanks You

Pussycat

Pussycat lives in the servant's hall,
she can set up her back, and purr;
the little mice live in a crack in the wall,
but they hardly dare venture to stir.

For whenever they think of taking the air,
or filling their little maws,
the Pussycat says: "Come out if you dare;
I will catch you with all my claws."

Scrabble, scrabble, scrabble, went all the little mice,
for they smelt the Cheshire cheese;
the Pussycat said: "It smells very nice,
Now do come out if you please."

"Squeak," said the little Mouse; "Squeak, squeak,"
said all the young ones too;
"we never creep out when the cats are about,
Because we're afraid of you."

So the cunning old Cat lay down on a mat
by the fire in the servant's hall;
"if the little mice peep, they'll think I'm asleep"
So she rolled herself up like a ball.

"Squeak," said the little Mouse, "we'll creep out
and eat some Cheshire cheese,
that silly old Cat is asleep on the mat,
and we may sup at our ease."

Nibble, nibble, nibble, went all the little mice,
and they licked their little paws;
then the cunning old cat sprang up from the mat
and caught them all with her claws!


By Mrs Hawkshaw

In Flanders Fields

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)

Canadian Army
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.