The poem
GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon, My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Blood must be my body's balmer; No other balm will there be given: Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, Travelleth towards the land of heaven; Over the silver mountains, Where spring the nectar fountains; There will I kiss The bowl of bliss; And drink mine everlasting fill Upon every milken hill. My soul will be a-dry before; But, after, it will thirst no more.
Bravo .. i love this poem . it rhymes in the most imaginable way.. Sir Walter Raleigh, ur poem is great continue what you are doing with a poetry career, if thats what ur striving for... and again i most deffinite way. write ur next poem about a goalkeeper in soccer that is unstoppable in his actions in playing soccer, this is just a suggestion also..
~Tom Mathanson