Poem Of The Week
Poem of the week on long break....
Aug 28- Sept 3, 2005
September
The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.
The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook,
From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.
But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
Is unto me the secret
Which makes September fair.
'T is a thing which I remember;
To name it thrills me yet:
One day of one September
I never can forget.
© Helen Hunt Jackson
Aug 21-27, 2005
Questions at Night
Why
Is the sky?
What starts the thunder overhead?
Who makes the crashing noise?
Are the angels falling out of bed?
Are they breaking all their toys?
Why does the sun go down so soon?
Why do the night-clouds crawl
Hungrily up to the new-laid moon
And swallow it, shell and all?
IF there's a Bear among the stars,
As all the people say,
Won't he jump over those pasture-bars
And drink up the Milky Way?
Does every star that happens to fall
Turn into a firefly?
Can't it ever get back to Heaven at all?
And why
Is the sky?
© Louis Untermeyer
Aug 14-20, 2005
The Elf and the Dormouse
Under a toadstool
Crept a wee elf
Out of the rain
To shelter himself.
Under the toadstool
Sound asleep
Sat a big dormouse
All in a heap.
Trembled the wee elf
Frightened, and yet
Fearing to fly away
Lest he got wet.
To the next shelter
Maybe a mile!
Sudden the wee elf
Smiled a wee smile,
Tugged till the toadstool
Toppled in two,
Holding it over him
Gaily he flew.
Soon he was safe home,
Dry as could be;
Soon woke the dormouse
"Good gracious me!
"Where is my toadstool?"
Loud he lamented.
And that's how umbrellas
First were invtented.
© Oliver Herford
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