Django fixtures for example JSON Document model

document.json

[
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 1,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "No Man Is An Island",
        "author": "John Donne",
        "body": "No man is an island,\nEntire of itself,\nEvery man is a piece of the continent,\nA part of the main.\nIf a clod be washed away by the sea,\nEurope is the less.\nAs well as if a promontory were.\nAs well as if a manor of thy friend\u2019s\nOr of thine own were:\nAny man\u2019s death diminishes me,\nBecause I am involved in mankind,\nAnd therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;\nIt tolls for thee.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 2,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Stopping by Woods On a Snowy Evening",
        "author": "Robert Frost",
        "body": "Whose woods these are I think I know.\nHis house is in the village though;\nHe will not see me stopping here\nTo watch his woods fill up with snow.\nMy little horse must think it queer\nTo stop without a farmhouse near\nBetween the woods and frozen lake\nThe darkest evening of the year.\nHe gives his harness bells a shake\nTo ask if there is some mistake.\nThe only other sound\u2019s the sweep\nOf easy wind and downy flake.\nThe woods are lovely, dark and deep,\nBut I have promises to keep,\nAnd miles to go before I sleep,\nAnd miles to go before I sleep.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 3,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Still I Rise",
        "author": "Maya Angelou",
        "body": "You may write me down in history\nWith your bitter, twisted lies,\nYou may tread me in the very dirt\nBut still, like dust, I\u2019ll rise.\nDoes my sassiness upset you?\nWhy are you beset with gloom?\n\u2019Cause I walk like I\u2019ve got oil wells\nPumping in my living room.\nJust like moons and like suns,\nWith the certainty of tides,\nJust like hopes springing high,\nStill I\u2019ll rise.\nDid you want to see me broken?\nBowed head and lowered eyes?\nShoulders falling down like teardrops.\nWeakened by my soulful cries.\nDoes my haughtiness offend you?\nDon\u2019t you take it awful hard\n\u2019Cause I laugh like I\u2019ve got gold mines\nDiggin\u2019 in my own back yard.\nYou may shoot me with your words,\nYou may cut me with your eyes,\nYou may kill me with your hatefulness,\nBut still, like air, I\u2019ll rise.\nDoes my sexiness upset you?\nDoes it come as a surprise\nThat I dance like I\u2019ve got diamonds\nAt the meeting of my thighs?\nOut of the huts of history\u2019s shame\nI rise\nUp from a past that\u2019s rooted in pain\nI rise\nI\u2019m a black ocean, leaping and wide,\nWelling and swelling I bear in the tide.\nLeaving behind nights of terror and fear\nI rise\nInto a daybreak that\u2019s wondrously clear\nI rise\nBringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,\nI am the dream and the hope of the slave.\nI rise\nI rise\nI rise.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 4,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer\u2019s Day?",
        "author": "William Shakespeare",
        "body": "Shall I compare thee to a summer\u2019s day?\nThou art more lovely and more temperate.\nRough winds do shake the darling buds of May,\nAnd summer\u2019s lease hath all too short a date.\nSometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,\nAnd often is his gold complexion dimmed;\nAnd every fair from fair sometime declines,\nBy chance, or nature\u2019s changing course, untrimmed;\nBut thy eternal summer shall not fade,\nNor lose possession of that fair thou ow\u2019st,\nNor shall death brag thou wand\u2019rest in his shade,\nWhen in eternal lines to Time thou grow\u2019st.\nSo long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,\nSo long lives this, and this gives life to thee.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 5,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "There Will Come Soft Rain",
        "author": "Sara Teasdale",
        "body": "There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,\nAnd swallows circling with their shimmering sound;\nAnd frogs in the pools singing at night,\nAnd wild plum trees in tremulous white;\nRobins will wear their feathery fire,\nWhistling their whims on a low fence-wire;\nAnd not one will know of the war, not one\nWill care at last when it is done.\nNot one would mind, neither bird nor tree,\nIf mankind perished utterly;\nAnd Spring herself, when she woke at dawn\nWould scarcely know that we were gone.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 6,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "If You Forget Me",
        "author": "Pablo Neruda",
        "body": "I want you to know\none thing.\nYou know how this is:\nif I look\nat the crystal moon, at the red branch\nof the slow autumn at my window,\nif I touch\nnear the fire\nthe impalpable ash\nor the wrinkled body of the log,\neverything carries me to you,\nas if everything that exists,\naromas, light, metals,\nwere little boats\nthat sail\ntoward those isles of yours that wait for me.\nWell, now,\nif little by little you stop loving me\nI shall stop loving you little by little.\nIf suddenly\nyou forget me\ndo not look for me,\nfor I shall already have forgotten you.\nIf you think it long and mad,\nthe wind of banners\nthat passes through my life,\nand you decide\nto leave me at the shore\nof the heart where I have roots,\nremember\nthat on that day,\nat that hour,\nI shall lift my arms\nand my roots will set off\nto seek another land.\nBut\nif each day,\neach hour,\nyou feel that you are destined for me\nwith implacable sweetness,\nif each day a flower\nclimbs up to your lips to seek me,\nah my love, ah my own,\nin me all that fire is repeated,\nin me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,\nmy love feeds on your love, beloved,\nand as long as you live it will be in your arms\nwithout leaving mine.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 7,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "O Captain! My Captain!",
        "author": "Walt Whitman",
        "body": "O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;\nThe ship has weather\u2019d every rack, the prize we sought is won;\nThe port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,\nWhile follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:\nBut O heart! heart! heart!\nO the bleeding drops of red,\nWhere on the deck my Captain lies,\nFallen cold and dead.\nO Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;\nRise up \u2014 for you the flag is flung \u2014 for you the bugle trills;\nFor you bouquets and ribbon\u2019d wreaths \u2014 for you the shores a-crowding;\nFor you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;\nHere Captain! dear father!\nThis arm beneath your head;\nIt is some dream that on the deck,\nYou\u2019ve fallen cold and dead.\nMy Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;\nMy father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;\nThe ship is anchor\u2019d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;\nFrom fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20\nExult, O shores, and ring, O bells!\nBut I, with mournful tread,\nWalk the deck my Cptain lies,\nFallen cold and dead.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 8,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Fire And Ice",
        "author": "Robert Frost",
        "body": "Some say the world will end in fire,\nSome say in ice.\nFrom what I\u2019ve tasted of desire\nI hold with those who favor fire.\nBut if it had to perish twice,\nI think I know enough of hate\nTo say that for destruction ice\nIs also great\nAnd would suffice.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 9,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "The Road Not Taken",
        "author": "Robert Frost",
        "body": "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,\nAnd sorry I could not travel both\nAnd be one traveler, long I stood\nAnd looked down one as far as I could\nTo where it bent in the undergrowth;\nThen took the other, as just as fair,\nAnd having perhaps the better claim\nBecause it was grassy and wanted wear,\nThough as for that the passing there\nHad worn them really about the same,\nAnd both that morning equally lay\nIn leaves no step had trodden black.\nOh, I kept the first for another day!\nYet knowing how way leads on to way\nI doubted if I should ever come back.\nI shall be telling this with a sigh\nSomewhere ages and ages hence:\nTwo roads diverged in a wood, and I,\nI took the one less traveled by,\nAnd that has made all the difference.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 10,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Dreams",
        "author": "Langston Hughes",
        "body": "Hold fast to dreams\nFor if dreams die\nLife is a broken-winged bird\nThat cannot fly.\nHold fast to dreams\nFor when dreams go\nLife is a barren field\nFrozen with snow.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 11,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Trees",
        "author": "Joyce Kilmer",
        "body": "I think that I shall never see\nA poem lovely as a tree.\nA tree whose hungry mouth is prest\nAgainst the earth\u2019s sweet flowing breast;\nA tree that looks at God all day,\nAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray;\nA tree that may in summer wear\nA nest of robins in her hair;\nUpon whose bosom snow has lain;\nWho intimately lives with rain.\nPoems are made by fools like me,\nBut only God can make a tree.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 12,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Ozymandias",
        "author": "Percy Bysshe Shelley",
        "body": "I met a traveller from an antique land\nWho said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone\nStand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,\nHalf sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,\nAnd wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,\nTell that its sculptor well those passions read\nWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,\nThe hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.\nAnd on the pedestal these words appear \u2014\n\u201cMy name is Ozymandias, king of kings:\nLook on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!\u201d\nNothing beside remains. Round the decay\nOf that colossal wreck, boundless and bare\nThe lone and level sands stretch far away.\u2019\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 13,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Love After Love",
        "author": "Derek Walcott",
        "body": "The time will come\nwhen, with elation\nyou will greet yourself arriving\nat your own door, in your own mirror\nand each will smile at the other\u2019s welcome,\nand say, sit here. Eat.\nYou will love again the stranger who was your self.\nGive wine. Give bread. Give back your heart\nto itself, to the stranger who has loved you\nall your life, whom you ignored\nfor another, who knows you by heart.\nTake down the love letters from the bookshelf,\nthe photographs, the desperate notes,\npeel your own image from the mirror.\nSit. Feast on your life.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 14,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "If",
        "author": "Rudyard Kipling",
        "body": "If you can keep your head when all about you\nAre losing theirs and blaming it on you;\nIf you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,\nBut make allowance for their doubting too:\nIf you can wait and not be tired by waiting,\nOr, being lied about, don\u2019t deal in lies,\nOr being hated don\u2019t give way to hating,\nAnd yet don\u2019t look too good, nor talk too wise;\nIf you can dream- -and not make dreams your master;\nIf you can think- -and not make thoughts your aim,\nIf you can meet with Triumph and Disaster\nAnd treat those two impostors just the same:.\nIf you can bear to hear the truth you\u2019ve spoken\nTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,\nOr watch the things you gave your life to, broken,\nAnd stoop and build\u2019em up with worn-out tools;\nIf you can make one heap of all your winnings\nAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,\nAnd lose, and start again at your beginnings,\nAnd never breathe a word about your loss:\nIf you can force your heart and nerve and sinew\nTo serve your turn long after they are gone,\nAnd so hold on when there is nothing in you\nExcept the Will which says to them: \u2018Hold on! \u2018\nIf you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,\nOr walk with Kings- -nor lose the common touch,\nIf neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,\nIf all men count with you, but none too much:\nIf you can fill the unforgiving minute\nWith sixty seconds\u2019 worth of distance run,\nYours is the Earth and everything that\u2019s in it,\nAnd- -which is more- -you\u2019ll be a Man, my son!\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 15,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Remember",
        "author": "Christina Georgina Rossetti",
        "body": "Remember me when I am gone away,\nGone far away into the silent land;\nWhen you can no more hold me by the hand,\nNor I half turn to go yet turning stay.\nRemember me when no more day by day\nYou tell me of our future that you plann\u2019d:\nOnly remember me; you understand\nIt will be late to counsel then or pray.\nYet if you should forget me for a while\nAnd afterwards remember, do not grieve:\nFor if the darkness and corruption leave\nA vestige of the thoughts that once I had,\nBetter by far you should forget and smile\nThan that you should remember and be sad.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 16,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "A Fairy Song",
        "author": "William Shakespeare",
        "body": "Over hill, over dale,\nThorough bush, thorough brier,\nOver park, over pale,\nThorough flood, thorough fire!\nI do wander everywhere,\nSwifter than the moon\u2019s sphere;\nAnd I serve the Fairy Queen,\nTo dew her orbs upon the green;\nThe cowslips tall her pensioners be;\nIn their gold coats spots you see;\nThose be rubies, fairy favours;\nIn those freckles live their savours;\nI must go seek some dewdrops here,\nAnd hang a pearl in every cowslip\u2019s ear.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 17,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep",
        "author": "Mary Elizabeth Frye",
        "body": "Do not stand at my grave and weep\nI am not there. I do not sleep.\nI am a thousand winds that blow.\nI am the diamond glints on snow.\nI am the sunlight on ripened grain.\nI am the gentle autumn rain.\nWhen you awaken in the morning\u2019s hush\nI am the swift uplifting rush\nOf quiet birds in circled flight.\nI am the soft stars that shine at night.\nDo not stand at my grave and cry;\nI am not there. I did not die.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 18,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You",
        "author": "Pablo Neruda",
        "body": "I do not love you except because I love you;\nI go from loving to not loving you,\nFrom waiting to not waiting for you\nMy heart moves from cold to fire.\nI love you only because it\u2019s you the one I love;\nI hate you deeply, and hating you\nBend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you\nIs that I do not see you but love you blindly.\nMaybe January light will consume\nMy heart with its cruel\nRay, stealing my key to true calm.\nIn this part of the story I am the one who\nDies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,\nBecause I love you, Love, in fire and blood.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 19,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "A Dream Within A Dream",
        "author": "Edgar Allan Poe",
        "body": "Take this kiss upon the brow!\nAnd, in parting from you now,\nThus much let me avow-\nYou are not wrong, who deem\nThat my days have been a dream;\nYet if hope has flown away\nIn a night, or in a day,\nIn a vision, or in none,\nIs it therefore the less gone?\nAll that we see or seem\nIs but a dream within a dream.\nI stand amid the roar\nOf a surf-tormented shore,\nAnd I hold within my hand\nGrains of the golden sand-\nHow few! yet how they creep\nThrough my fingers to the deep,\nWhile I weep- while I weep!\nO God! can I not grasp\nThem with a tighter clasp?\nO God! can I not save\nOne from the pitiless wave?\nIs all that we see or seem\nBut a dream within a dream?\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 20,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "How Do I Love Thee?",
        "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning",
        "body": "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.\nI love thee to the depth and breadth and height\nMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sight\nFor the ends of Being and ideal Grace.\nI love thee to the level of every day\u2019s\nMost quiet need, by sun and candlelight.\nI love thee freely, as men strive for Right;\nI love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.\nI love with a passion put to use\nIn my old griefs, and with my childhood\u2019s faith.\nI love thee with a love I seemed to lose\nWith my lost saints, \u2014 I love thee with the breath,\nSmiles, tears, of all my life! \u2014 and, if God choose,\nI shall but love thee better after death.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 21,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Invictus",
        "author": "William Ernest Henley",
        "body": "Out of the night that covers me,\nBlack as the Pit from pole to pole,\nI thank whatever gods may be\nFor my unconquerable soul.\nIn the fell clutch of circumstance\nI have not winced nor cried aloud.\nUnder the bludgeonings of chance\nMy head is bloody, but unbowed.\nBeyond this place of wrath and tears\nLooms but the Horror of the shade,\nAnd yet the menace of the years\nFinds, and shall find, me unafraid.\nIt matters not how strait the gate,\nHow charged with punishments the scroll.\nI am the master of my fate:\nI am the captain of my soul.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 22,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "So Tired Blues",
        "author": "Langston Hughes",
        "body": "With the sun in my hand\nGonna throw the sun\nWay across the land-\nCause I\u2019m tired,\nTired as I can be\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 23,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Warning",
        "author": "Jenny Joseph",
        "body": "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple\nWith a red hat which doesn\u2019t go, and doesn\u2019t suit me.\nAnd I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves\nAnd satin sandals, and say we\u2019ve no money for butter.\nI shall sit down on the pavement when I\u2019m tired\nAnd gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells\nAnd run my stick along the public railings\nAnd make up for the sobriety of my youth.\nI shall go out in my slippers in the rain\nAnd pick flowers in other people\u2019s gardens\nAnd learn to spit.\nYou can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat\nAnd eat three pounds of sausages at a go\nOr only bread and pickle for a week\nAnd hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.\nBut now we must have clothes that keep us dry\nAnd pay our rent and not swear in the street\nAnd set a good example for the children.\nWe must have friends to dinner and read the papers.\nBut maybe I ought to practice a little now?\nSo people who know me are not too shocked and surprised\nWhen suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 24,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "On The Ning Nang Nong",
        "author": "Spike Milligan",
        "body": "On the Ning Nang Nong\nWhere the Cows go Bong!\nand the monkeys all say BOO!\nThere\u2019s a Nong Nang Ning\nWhere the trees go Ping!\nAnd the tea pots jibber jabber joo.\nOn the Nong Ning Nang\nAll the mice go Clang\nAnd you just can\u2019t catch \u2019em when they do!\nSo its Ning Nang Nong\nCows go Bong!\nNong Nang Ning\nTrees go ping\nNong Ning Nang\nThe mice go Clang\nWhat a noisy place to belong\nis the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 25,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night",
        "author": "Dylan Thomas",
        "body": "Do not go gentle into that good night,\nOld age should burn and rave at close of day;\nRage, rage against the dying of the light.\nThough wise men at their end know dark is right,\nBecause their words had forked no lightning they\nDo not go gentle into that good night.\nGood men, the last wave by, crying how bright\nTheir frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,\nRage, rage against the dying of the light.\nWild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,\nAnd learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,\nDo not go gentle into that good night.\nGrave men, near death, who see with blinding sight\nBlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,\nRage, rage against the dying of the light.\nAnd you, my father, there on that sad height,\nCurse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.\nDo not go gentle into that good night.\nRage, rage against the dying of the light.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 26,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Hope Is The Thing With Feathers",
        "author": "Emily Dickinson",
        "body": "\u2018Hope\u2019 is the thing with feathers \u2014\nThat perches in the soul \u2014\nAnd sings the tune without the words \u2014\nAnd never stops \u2014 at all \u2014\nAnd sweetest \u2014 in the Gale \u2014 is heard \u2014\nAnd sore must be the storm \u2014\nThat could abash the little Bird\nThat kept so many warm \u2014\nI\u2019ve heard it in the chillest land \u2014\nAnd on the strangest Sea \u2014\nYet, never, in Extremity,\nIt asked a crumb \u2014 of Me.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 27,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "A Poison Tree",
        "author": "William Blake",
        "body": "I was angry with my friend:\nI told my wrath, my wrath did end.\nI was angry with my foe:\nI told it not, my wrath did grow.\nAnd I watered it in fears,\nNight and morning with my tears;\nAnd I sunned it with smiles,\nAnd with soft deceitful wiles.\nAnd it grew both day and night,\nTill it bore an apple bright.\nAnd my foe beheld it shine.\nAnd he knew that it was mine,\nAnd into my garden stole\nWhen the night had veiled the pole;\nIn the morning glad I see\nMy foe outstretched beneath the tree.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 28,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud",
        "author": "William Wordsworth",
        "body": "I wandered lonely as a cloud\nThat floats on high o\u2019er vales and hills,\nWhen all at once I saw a crowd,\nA host, of golden daffodils;\nBeside the lake, beneath the trees,\nFluttering and dancing in the breeze.\nContinuous as the stars that shine\nAnd twinkle on the milky way,\nThey stretched in never-ending line\nAlong the margin of a bay:\nTen thousand saw I at a glance,\nTossing their heads in sprightly dance.\nThe waves beside them danced; but they\nOut-did the sparkling waves in glee:\nA poet could not but be gay,\nIn such a jocund company:\nI gazed- and gazed- but little thought\nWhat wealth the show to me had brought:\nFor oft, when on my couch I lie\nIn vacant or in pensive mood,\nThey flash upon that inward eye\nWhich is the bliss of solitude;\nAnd then my heart with pleasure fills,\nAnd dances with the daffodils.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 29,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "Mother To Son",
        "author": "Langston Hughes",
        "body": "Well, son, I\u2019ll tell you:\nLife for me ain\u2019t been no crystal stair.\nIt\u2019s had tacks in it,\nAnd splinters,\nAnd boards torn up,\nAnd places with no carpet on the floor \u2014\nBare.\nBut all the time\nI\u2019se been a-climbin\u2019 on,\nAnd reachin\u2019 landin\u2019s,\nAnd turnin\u2019 corners,\nAnd sometimes goin\u2019 in the dark\nWhere there ain\u2019t been no light.\nSo, boy, don\u2019t you turn back.\nDon\u2019t you set down on the steps.\n\u2019Cause you finds it\u2019s kinder hard.\nDon\u2019t you fall now \u2014\nFor I\u2019se still goin\u2019, honey,\nI\u2019se still climbin\u2019,\nAnd life for me ain\u2019t been no crystal stair.\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 30,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "I Choose The Mountain",
        "author": "Howard Simon",
        "body": "The low lands call\nI am tempted to answer\nThey are offering me a free dwelling\nWithout having to conquer\nThe massive mountain makes its move\nBeckoning me to ascend\nA much more difficult path\nTo get up the slippery bend\nI cannot choose both\nI have a choice to make\nI must be wise\nThis will determine my fate\nI choose, I choose the mountain\nWith all its stress and strain\nBecause only by climbing\nCan I rise above the plain\nI choose the mountain\nAnd I will never stop climbing\nI choose the mountain\nAnd I shall forever be ascending\nI choose the mountain\n"
      }
    }
  },
  {
    "model": "json_search.document",
    "pk": 31,
    "fields": {
      "content": {
        "title": "A Smile To Remember",
        "author": "Charles Bukowski",
        "body": "we had goldfish and they circled around and around\nin the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes\ncovering the picture window and\nmy mother, always smiling, wanting us all\nto be happy, told me, \u2018be happy Henry!\u2019\nand she was right: it\u2019s better to be happy if you\ncan\nbut my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while\nraging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn\u2019t\nunderstand what was attacking him from within.\nmy mother, poor fish,\nwanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a\nweek, telling me to be happy: \u2018Henry, smile!\nwhy don\u2019t you ever smile?\u2019\nand then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the\nsaddest smile I ever saw\none day the goldfish died, all five of them,\nthey floated on the water, on their sides, their\neyes still open,\nand when my father got home he threw them to the cat\nthere on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother\nsmiled\n"
      }
    }
  }
]