The Rose That Grew From Concrete - Tupac Shakur

The Rose That Grew From Concrete 

Did you hear about the rose that grew

from a crack in the concrete? 

Proving nature's law is wrong it 

learned to walk with out having feet. 

Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams, 

it learned to breathe fresh air. 

Long live the rose that grew from concrete

when no one else ever cared.

Tupac Shakur

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep - Mary Elizabeth Frye 1905-2004

       Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep 

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

 Mary Elizabeth Frye 

My Life Changing Cookies are HERE!!!!!!

HOPE YOU LIKE THEM AS MUCH AS I DO :-) XOXO

Primark Haul - Video

Welcome,

 Book of Elsa! 

Spent least amount of money I could :-)

Enjoy xxo

Beach - Book of Elsa

Beach.

Warm sand under sore feet

Wind blowing the cobwebs off a tired face

Waves crash landing on a welcoming shore

All consuming so vast and deep

My ocean is scary; my ocean is beautiful

Floating and at peace water on the mind and in 

The bones

Being dragged back to shore, kicking and screaming

Book of Elsa

Top 5: June 2014 Beauty and Book favourites!!!

Had a lot of fun making this video :-)

xxo

Art - Book of Elsa

I hate my art; it owns me.

It's more than what I do... It has become who I am.

Writing is my curse, I love it with all I have

It's in my soul, it's my lover, my friend. 

Words are the best I have, the best 

in me. My art brings me more joy than man...

Feelings are confusing they mingle in ones' heart 

stewing and brewing. Making  nonsense.

Words are clear. perfect. Direct. 

They say what they mean and mean what they say.

They can swaddle in eternal warmth and cut deep. Deep in truth.

I hate my art; It owns me.

It is ALL (say it!) that I am.

Book of Elsa. 

WRITER. 

Ship - Carol Ann Duffy

SHIP 

In the end,

it was nothing more

than the toy boat of a boy

on the local park’s lake,

where I walked with you.

But I knelt down

to watch it arrive,

its white sail shy

with amber light,

the late sun

bronzing the wave

that lifted it up,

my ship coming in

with its cargo of joy.

Carol Ann Duffy