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About "What If"

‘Of all the words that have stuck to the ribs of my soul, poetry has been the most filling.’ - Anonymous

Africycle started as a dream by 18 year old Uxbridge sculptor and avid cyclist Ted Webb, who identified the need for bicycles to enable communities in Malawi to get food, water and much needed medical supplies.

This book is dedicated to the volunteers of Africycle, as well as the African people who continue to benefit from this charitable organization.

Information: book measures approx. 5" X 8". 72 pages.


WHAT IF ~ with poetry by      
Lord Alfred Tennyson
(1809 - 1892)
Robert Burns
(1759 - 1796)
Sgt. Joyce Kilmer
(1886 - 1918)
Charlotte Vallière Hord
(written in 1969)
Eugene Fitch Ware
(1841 - 1911)


Read at Memorial Service
for Michael Jackson
July 7th, 2009

If you can’t be a pine on the top of the hill,
Be a scrub in the valley – but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Be a bush, if you can’t be a tree.

If you can’t be a bush, be a bit of the grass,
And some highway happier make;
If you can’t be a muskie, then just be a bass –
But the liveliest bass in the lake!

We can’t all be captains, we’ve got to be crew,
There’s something for all of us here.
There’s big work to do and there’s lesser to do
And the task we must do is the near.

If you can’t be a highway, then just be a trail,
If you can’t be the sun, be a star;
It isn’t by size that you win or you fail –
Be the best of whatever you are!

- Douglas Malloch -
(1877 - 1938)


Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our Life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home.

- William Wordsworth -
(1770 - 1850)



Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die
And laid me down with a will.

This is the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea
And the hunter home from the hill.

- Robert Louis Stevenson -
(1850 - 1894)


The Arrow and The Song

I shot an arrow into the air
It fell to earth I know not where
For so swiftly it flew
The sight could not follow it
In its flight.

I breathed a song into the air
It fell to earth I knew not where
For who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the
Flight of song?

Long long afterward
In an oak
I found the arrow still unbroke
And the song
From beginning to end
I found again
In the heart of a friend!

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -
(1807 - 1882)

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