The superior man is satisfied and composed; the mean man is always full of distress. ..
Phone Number *** - **** 6412
Birthday01 May 1986
EducationAthens State University - Mathematics
AddressAlabama York St No: 6412
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About Cheri Seymore
Poem to My Son
I am an April woman: December ash that consumes itself frightens me
My son, hide me while you rocket to the stars spreading over the earth like grass Winter thunderstorm will drink down my river flowing with love's secrets, muffling that music in whose echoes you were born. But you shrug your shoulders: 'This woman is planted in time she bridges the air like a dove a thousand years old. She is a willow, I know her: bend her -she springs back She is a palm tree, I know her pick her fruit -she makes more honey and dates She is a cypress tree, I know her she never loses her leaves What do December storms mean to her?'
Yet the winter winds do howl, my son, night and day I yearn for you for your sweet sarcastic voice your voice wise and cruel, innocent and selfish.
Night and day I miss you We both live in space, in the wind and the rain Each of us drinks his own wine each of us is poured in his own glass for you were made of my elements.
I gave you: my impetuous soul my constant disappearance flitting far away across the world my chronic elusiveness a will like rock, loyal as the true stars in the sky's valleys. And I gave you: love's ecstasy the will to conquer passionate devotion and the enchantment of the spirit in the presence of holy fire.
Should I blame you?
And you gave me: a promise and pledge security forever delayed love that's here and is never here Should you blame me? I am a wild gazelle you are rock My head is bloodied.