A Love Story, The Flower Garden Circle By Dave Thurston In the middle of down town Phoenix was an empty lot. A farmer bought that lot. His name was John Lot. It wasn't a big lot but John bought the lot the remainder of his settlement. John had farmed for 35 years. He was as good farmer and knew everything there was to know about farming. He was forced to quit farming because of a back injury. His injury left him with few options. His dream was to move to city with his nest egg and develop a lot. John knew nothing of a developing a lot in a downtown area, but he tried anyway. He tried to put in a coffee shop but the contracts were too complicated, the fees to high and process too involved. John was simple man with a dream but not a plan. He almost gave up and moved on when he caught a second wind inspired by knowing he could farm the lot. That was what he knew and what he loved. He loved farming and he loved his only son. He wanted his son to be happy, to marry a women li...
Very interesting Story ;!!!! I bet you gonna learn from this story! A pretty and wealthy woman was serving life sentence in prison. Angry and resentful about her plight she had decided that she would rather die than to live another year in prison. Over the years she had become good friends with one of the prison caretakers. His job, among others, was to bury those prisoners who died in a graveyard just outside the prison walls. When a prisoner died, the caretaker rang a bell, which was heard by everyone. The caretaker then got the body and put it in a casket. Next, he entered his office to fill out the death certificate before returning to the casket to nail the lid shut. Finally, he put the casket on a wagon to take it to the graveyard and bury it. Knowing this routine, the woman devised an escape plan and shared it with the caretaker; The next time the bell rang, the woman would leave her cell and sneak into the dark room where the coffins were kept. ...
Lounging in my office All alone am here; Lounging half awake. Idly listening to the wind Blow through my window. One tired feet on my laden desk; A picture perfect symbol of tired. Me and the wind had a talk; He was howling all his woes At globetrotting a thousand times. I was silently bewailing my fatigued self. We both have been overworked for the day. Mine has come to a pause, His is still in play. I envied him his freedom at first But then I wondered aloud, What he saw in my state to feel bitter about. He told me in his whooshing speech, How he has no pause from work; Can’t even grow tired without dying. Work is his life and recurring hell, And there’s no end to his walks. Although we had a grumbling talk; A ghostly, refreshing opening of the mind, And we envied each other our states. We both knew, deep down we can’t Switch places or swap fates. I know I’d rather work hard half the day And have the time to rest like now, Than trot the globe like the wind Lounging apace i...
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