My Silver Moon
The Sun gives us light and heat while the moon gives us light and coolness. My Silver Moon is for you!
မေရာက္တာ ၾကာေနၿပီမုိ႔ တစ္ေခါက္လာၾကည္႔တာ
မေရာက္တာ ၾကာေနလုိ႔ လာၾကည္႔တာပါ။ အပိတ္အဆုိ႔ေတြကလည္း မ်ားလုိက္တာ။ 
Seasons in the sun
ဒီသီခ်င္းေလးကေတာ႔ Westlife အဖြဲ႔ကျပန္လည္ဆန္းသစ္သီဆုိထားတဲ႔ ေရွးသီခ်င္းေလးပါ။ ငယ္စဥ္ေတာင္ေက်း ကေလးဘ၀ကတည္းကသိကြ်မ္းခဲ႔ရတဲ႔ သူငယ္ခ်င္း၊ ဖခင္တုိ႔ကုိတုိင္တည္ရင္း ဘ၀ကုိေပ်ာ္ေပ်ာ္ျဖတ္သန္းေနတဲ႔ လူငယ္တစ္ဦးရဲ႕ခံစားခ်က္ကုိဖြဲ႕ဆုိထားပါတယ္။
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A Dream of Riches
A Dream of Riches
Some people say that dreams come true, but I do not believe it. I shall tell you why I do not. One March evening, after I had eaten a dinner of fried potatoes, chili con carne, lettuce salad and pineapple, I felt sick and went to bed early. I was not long in bed until I was asleep and dreaming. I dreamt that I was digging up the ground along the sandy bank of a river, when all at once I discovered a nickel half covered with sand lying at my feet. As I uncovered the one nickel, several others appeared. Suddenly, as I dug into the sand with my fingers, a stream of nickels gushed forth from the ground and flew in all directions. First I filled my pockets; then I ran to a near-by store and secured three bushel baskets which I also filled with nickels. At last, the gusher having subsided, and my baskets having been safely hidden away in some elderberry bushes a few yards away, I started home to tell my mother of my good fortune. My pockets jingled at every step. When Mother opened the door upon my arrival, I hugged her and cried, "We're rich! We're rich!" And then I awoke to hear Mother calling, "Harry, get out of that bed this instant and quit screaming like a maniac!" I started, and jumped out of bed still yelling mechanically, "We're rich!" This is one of my dreams which I am reasonably sure will never come true. -HARRY EASTON
Some people say that dreams come true, but I do not believe it. I shall tell you why I do not. One March evening, after I had eaten a dinner of fried potatoes, chili con carne, lettuce salad and pineapple, I felt sick and went to bed early. I was not long in bed until I was asleep and dreaming. I dreamt that I was digging up the ground along the sandy bank of a river, when all at once I discovered a nickel half covered with sand lying at my feet. As I uncovered the one nickel, several others appeared. Suddenly, as I dug into the sand with my fingers, a stream of nickels gushed forth from the ground and flew in all directions. First I filled my pockets; then I ran to a near-by store and secured three bushel baskets which I also filled with nickels. At last, the gusher having subsided, and my baskets having been safely hidden away in some elderberry bushes a few yards away, I started home to tell my mother of my good fortune. My pockets jingled at every step. When Mother opened the door upon my arrival, I hugged her and cried, "We're rich! We're rich!" And then I awoke to hear Mother calling, "Harry, get out of that bed this instant and quit screaming like a maniac!" I started, and jumped out of bed still yelling mechanically, "We're rich!" This is one of my dreams which I am reasonably sure will never come true. -HARRY EASTON
Nephew Harry
Nephew Harry
When I read the "funnies" to my nephew Harry, I am both annoyed and flattered. "Hey, Blanche," he begins, when he finds me on the front-porch swing these June evenings, "will they kill Spud? Will Klem kill the pretty girl? Does Roy really forget everything?" On and on goes his everlasting questions. I sometimes wish they would publish the whole adventure at once; then Harry would not be left in an agony of suspense. And I am the one who feels the brunt of his suspense. Every evening it's the same tale. Up stalks Harry, comic sheet held fast in his dirty hands, his brown eyes hopeful. "Blanche, please read me Tim," comes his meek request. I continue munching carrots. "I---I---I'll get you a glass of cold water," he offers, grinning shyly. Resigning myself to my fate, I grab the paper from him and begin to read about Tim, stopping frequently to explain at length situations he doesn't understand. When I have finished, I rudely hand it back to him and turn a cold, ignoring shoulder to his thoughtful face. I know, however, what is coming next. "Blanche, will he get away? Do you think the old man in the cave will torture him?" Hardening my heart against his appealing voice, I turned round to glare at him. Alas! His eyes are so wistful that I can't resist. And the result is another half hour spent in answering eager questions. Though I am always annoyed by these daily episodes, I confess that satisfying Harry is no mean reward.
-BLANCHE ORPELLI
When I read the "funnies" to my nephew Harry, I am both annoyed and flattered. "Hey, Blanche," he begins, when he finds me on the front-porch swing these June evenings, "will they kill Spud? Will Klem kill the pretty girl? Does Roy really forget everything?" On and on goes his everlasting questions. I sometimes wish they would publish the whole adventure at once; then Harry would not be left in an agony of suspense. And I am the one who feels the brunt of his suspense. Every evening it's the same tale. Up stalks Harry, comic sheet held fast in his dirty hands, his brown eyes hopeful. "Blanche, please read me Tim," comes his meek request. I continue munching carrots. "I---I---I'll get you a glass of cold water," he offers, grinning shyly. Resigning myself to my fate, I grab the paper from him and begin to read about Tim, stopping frequently to explain at length situations he doesn't understand. When I have finished, I rudely hand it back to him and turn a cold, ignoring shoulder to his thoughtful face. I know, however, what is coming next. "Blanche, will he get away? Do you think the old man in the cave will torture him?" Hardening my heart against his appealing voice, I turned round to glare at him. Alas! His eyes are so wistful that I can't resist. And the result is another half hour spent in answering eager questions. Though I am always annoyed by these daily episodes, I confess that satisfying Harry is no mean reward.
-BLANCHE ORPELLI
How I Select and Read a Book
How I Select and Read a Book
I am one of those people who believe that a good book is a good friend. When I go to the library to select a book, I get one of that I think will interest me. I like books with a few pictures to illustrate the story. This I find helps me greatly in choosing an interesting story, as I can usually tell by the pictures what a book is like. I then leaf through the book and read a little here and there; I always read some of the conversation to see what the characters are like. If the book suits me, of course I take it out. When I get home and have some time for reading, I pick a comfortable spot and a comfortable chair, where I think I cannot be easily disturbed. I take an apple and if I am lucky enough to find some candy in the house, I set it on the arm of the chair. I curl up and uncurl until I have a comfortable position. I then open the book and start to read. I say to myself, "Hum! that sounds funny," or, "That doesn't make sense." I then read the first paragraph over again and think, "This book is going to be dry." Nevertheless I give the book a fair trial and keep on reading. The book grows so interesting that I forget about the rest of the world. Finally I come to the part when the girl is tied to the burning stake and the hero's horse's hoofs are heard in the distance. I am very much excited now and can hardly wait to find out if the hero will reach the girl in time to save her. By the time the girl is rescued, I wake up to the fact that I have been stuffing more candy into my mouth than I can chew. Mother calls, "Say, can't you hear? I have called about six times." -MARJORIE FUELLER
I am one of those people who believe that a good book is a good friend. When I go to the library to select a book, I get one of that I think will interest me. I like books with a few pictures to illustrate the story. This I find helps me greatly in choosing an interesting story, as I can usually tell by the pictures what a book is like. I then leaf through the book and read a little here and there; I always read some of the conversation to see what the characters are like. If the book suits me, of course I take it out. When I get home and have some time for reading, I pick a comfortable spot and a comfortable chair, where I think I cannot be easily disturbed. I take an apple and if I am lucky enough to find some candy in the house, I set it on the arm of the chair. I curl up and uncurl until I have a comfortable position. I then open the book and start to read. I say to myself, "Hum! that sounds funny," or, "That doesn't make sense." I then read the first paragraph over again and think, "This book is going to be dry." Nevertheless I give the book a fair trial and keep on reading. The book grows so interesting that I forget about the rest of the world. Finally I come to the part when the girl is tied to the burning stake and the hero's horse's hoofs are heard in the distance. I am very much excited now and can hardly wait to find out if the hero will reach the girl in time to save her. By the time the girl is rescued, I wake up to the fact that I have been stuffing more candy into my mouth than I can chew. Mother calls, "Say, can't you hear? I have called about six times." -MARJORIE FUELLER
