WRITTEN IN SPRING

William Wordsworth  1770-1850

The cock is crowing,

The stream is flowing,

The small birds twitter,

The lake doth glitter

The green field sleeps in the sun;

The oldest and youngest

Are at work with the strongest;

The cattle are grazing,

Their heads never raising;

There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated

The snow hath retreated,

And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;

The ploughboy is whooping - anon, anon:

There's joy in the mountains;

There's life in the fountains;

Small clouds are sailing,

Blue sky prevailing;

The rain is over and gone!

-o0o-

WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS 

Shel Silverstein  1930-99

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

-o0o-

TWO SPARROWS
Humbert Wolfe 1885-1940

Two sparrows, feeding,
Heard a thrush
Sing to the dawn,
The first said, “Tush!

In all my life
I never heard
A more affected
Singing bird.”

The second said,
“It’s you and me
Who slave to keep
The likes of he.”

“And if we cared,”
Both sparrows said,
“We’d do that singing
On our head.”

The thrush pecked sideways
And was dumb.
“And now,” they screamed,
“He’s pinched our crumb!”

-o0o-

A GARDEN

Andrew Marvell 1621-78

See how the flowers, as at parade,

Under their colours stand display’d:

Each regiment in order grows,

That of the tulip, pink, and rose.

But when the vigilant patrol

Of stars walks round about the pole,

Their leaves, that to the stalks are curl’d,

Seem to their staves the ensigns furl’d.

Then in some flower’s beloved hut

Each bee, as sentinel, is shut,

And sleeps so too; but if once stirr’d,

She runs you through, nor asks the word.

-o0o-

TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL

Maya Angelou b.1928

We, unaccustomed to courage

exiles from delight

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight

to liberate us into life.

Love arrives

and in its train come ecstasies

old memories of pleasure

ancient histories of pain.

Yet if we are bold,

love strikes away the chains of fear

from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity

In the flush of love's light

we dare be brave

And suddenly we see

that love costs all we are

and will ever be.

Yet it is only love

which sets us free.

-o0o-

ALL THAT IS GOLD

J.R.R. Tolkien 1892-1973

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

A PERSONAL SCRAPBLOG WAS UPDATED YESTERDAY

-o0o-

MAN AND BEAST

Clifford Dyment 1914-71

Hugging the ground by the lilac tree, 

With shadows in conspiracy, 

The black cat from the house next door 

Waits with death in each bared claw 

For the tender unwary bird 

That all the summer I have heard 

In the orchard singing, I hate 

The cat that is its savage fate, 

And choose a stone with which to send 

Slayer, not victim, to its end. 

I look to where the black cat lies, 

But drop my stone, seeing its eyes - 

Who is it sins now, those eyes say, 

You the hunter, or I the prey? 

A PERSONAL SCRAPBLOG WAS UPDATED TODAY

-o0o-