esmondng on July 22nd, 2008
“Eagles of the Bay” by Esmond Ng © copyright 26/05/05
Many times I’ve come and disappointed left.
Many tries for familiar sights to find; refresh.
Yet they seem to elude me with each and every visit,
By the bay, which for me have come to like.
Like may be too light a word used,
Heavy, it should be love the place I do.
Memories I hold dear survive at this bay,
And new paintings, pictures see I each stay.
Today must lucky have been my day,
Wait’d and our Eagle appear’d in soaring height.
Like Cupid’s arrow that dart’d across ye clear blue sky,
So too it was there, that His arrow shot me;
Making me Love’s blind.
That must have been all you’d say.
Elated I be this very day.
However just when all couldn’t be more bright,
Out came a little Eagle chasing His mother’s flight.
Oh how much glee they brought to me,
This day I regret not, myself by this sea.
For I know sometimes Thee doeth the same as me,
Try perhaps too, spot them and thinks’t of me.
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esmondng on July 22nd, 2008
“Paint my memories” by Esmond Ng © copyright 25/05/05
I know Sorry is a word redundant,
When you have set out to eradicate me.
I know my explanations mean nothing,
For a verdict like a judge did pass me.
The reason for end is not as important as the ending,
This finale is not at all beautiful like stories seem.
But it may be best this way an end to all these,
For I realize myself too that anything to you I can’t promise.
I did enjoy your company, I really did.
Everything a memory I would still want to cherish.
Never did intend to use thee lik’d thee had deem’d me,
But it’s really not crucial the reasoning already.
For know myself more through knowing thee,
That in my heart someone else is still within me.
“Paint my memories” she did really,
A painting with varnish and medium to last for centuries.
Lest it be less use to say it,
It be best still the word to put it.
Thou do deserve someone better, someone that can give;
Sorry, that for you one is not me.
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esmondng on July 22nd, 2008
“Tea Leaves” by Esmond Ng 12/05/05 © copyright
Away on slopes of different air,
Where ye painting on wall is really nature’s own;
Mountains line the pearly clouds,
That’s where my tea leaves grows’t.
The green that edges ye horizon,
The vast color of which serene grown;
Yet with each harvest that comes along,
Only the top leaves nonpareil.
Grey be by name my favorite tea,
Though woody and spicy it’s taste be;
Equivalent I say, it be Shiraz of tea,
But pleasure to palate it surely brings to Thee.
Like all good things Life which brings,
Thou needs really look beyond to see.
Appreciating the simple and ordinary,
Then and only pick the top few leaves.
Along midway sometimes grey it all seems,
Everything so looks going agains’t Thee.
Did I mention no rose beds amongs’t the leaves?
Hold on tight and God’s peace keep.
Even the best are cropp’d and trimm’d,
But like tea leaves they never cease;
Seasons, grows’t and flourishes once again.
So really, should Thee.
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