The child’s wonder
At the old moon
Comes back nightly.
She points her finger
To the far silent yellow thing
Shining through the branches
Filtering on the leaves a golden sand,
Crying with her little tongue, “See the moon!”
And in her bed fading to sleep
With babblings of the moon on her little mouth.
by Carl Sandburg
Time & Cookies
Time quickly goes away,
like cookies on a plate.
Maybe if we bake some more,
We can make time wait.
Black Iron Gate
In the back yard all alone I sit,
Warm Spring sun, softness of breeze.
Trusting friends will come for a visit,
Hearing the squeak of that gate, oh please.
Seedlings float by brushing my cheeks,
I dream of running, oh wouldn’t that be great.
Thoughts float by, I’m wading in creeks,
Better still, I hear the squeak of the gate.
Hopefully they’ll come, friends and class mates.
I try very hard to keep a smile on my face,
In my mind, I can go just about any place.
No one is coming, in the warmth of this day,
I’ll stay positive, I’ll read my book.
At the black iron gate, no more shall I look.
Day is near end, what more to hear, what more to say,
The black iron gate did not squeak, didn’t open, nor sway,
There were no friends to come visit me today.
I traveled down many paths in the woods,
Climbed mountains and waded in brooks.
I did all of these things and many more,
My adventures come from all my books.
Another rising, another day I will again in my
back yard wait,
Sitting under colored trees, crisp air telling of Fall.
With my books in my lap, near the black iron gate,
Indeed I have no doubt, soon my friends will call.
It’s the the best one of them all
The leaves are red and gold
This winter I will be olderby Jimmy age 6
the morning air.
Emily C, age: 12, Year: 8, Selwyn House School, ChristchurchPoem:https://nzpoetrybox.wordpress.com/tag/poems-by-children/
DYING, CHANGING, YELLOW, BROWN, AND GOLDEN
COLORS, BRIGHT, GLOWING, LIVELY
MAKE AN AUTUMN SHADOW FLOWING
COLORS BEYOND BELIEF
A Cup of Tea
When the world is all at odds
And the mind is all at sea
Then cease the useless tedium
And brew a cup of tea.
There is magic in its fragrance,
There is solace in its taste;
And the laden moments vanish
Somehow into space.
And the world becomes a lovely thing!
There’s beauty as you’ll see;
All because you briefly stopped
To brew a cup of tea.
Tea helps our head and heart.
Ted medicates most every part.
Tea rejuvenates the very old.
Tea warms the hands of those who’re cold.
J. Amsterdam ~ 1670
Fall Tea Recipes:
Warm Sips of Tea and Crisp Bites of Fall
NEW AND FRESH / November 22nd, 2013
Incorporating fresh tea with savory ingredients can make a festive meal for all
to enjoy this season. Delve into the warm scents of the season with these easy t
ea recipes, ideal for fall entertaining.
Gingersnap Chai Latte
- ½ cup water
- 1 Republic Chai Tea bag
- ½ cup steamed milk
- 1 Tbs. molasses
- 1/4 vanilla bean, scraped
- Foamed milk
- Gingersnap cookies (optional)
- Heat fresh, filtered water to a rolling boil.
- Place the Chai tea bag in a standard sized tea mug,
- add heated water and steep for 3-5 minutes.
- Remove tea bag, stir in steamed milk, molasses, and vanilla bean.
- Top with foamed milk and serve with gingersnap cookies.
Images Found on Pinterest
Tea Recipe: http://the.republicoftea.com/teablog/fall-tea-recipes-warm-sips-of-tea-and-crisp-bites-of-fall/
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,–
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
John Keats, 1795 – 1821