Take your children by hand and a paper bag Hurry, don't let your feet too slowly drag Into the woods today we're headed for sure Going to let nature give us a memorable tourNow sun is yellow and warm making bright our faces Soon we'll be in cool dark green whispering places
Big things we see, gigantic boulders, tall pine trees
We're looking for tiny things hidden under rocks
logs and leavesWe might find a Lady Slipper and give it to Mom
A Jack-in-the-Pulpit we could give to Uncle Rom
Sweet berries are every where, but we mustn't eat
Watch the birds, see if they do make them a treatShush, I hear a sound coming from that hallow log on the ground
It might be a frog, chipmunk, or possibly a fairy
sneaking around
"I believe your imagination has gone off in a whirl
You funny child, it's only a fluffy brown squirrel"
The sun now a orange and red in the lower cooler
darkened sky,
To the birds, frogs, chipmunks, squirrels, and possibly a fairy say goodbye
Get your rocks, berries, Lady Slippers, your leaves, moss and wood
When we get home and empty your bag, we'll see that you did really goodPlace the moss in the garden, rocks and wood on your shelf in a row,
Your golden leaves pressed in wax paper and hung in the kitchen window.
All that fresh air, running and climbing has made you a sleepy head,
Eat your supper, have your hot shower, then off you go to bed.Dreaming about the Lady slippers, frogs, squirrels and possibly a fairy no longer in its secret place,
When morning comes and your refreshed, check the bag, make sure it's empty---just saying in case.
Author Eileen Clark
I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies’ skirts across the grass– O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all– O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
Claude McKay, who was born in Jamaica in 1889, wrote about social and political concerns from his perspective as a black man in the United States, as well as a variety of subjects ranging from his Jamaican homeland to romantic love.
While yet we wait for spring, and from the dry
And blackening east that so embitters March,
Well-housed must watch grey fields and meadows parch,
And driven dust and withering snowflake fly;
Already in glimpses of the tarnish’d sky
The sun is warm and beckons to the larch,
And where the covert hazels interarch
Their tassell’d twigs, fair beds of primrose lie.
Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid
A million buds but stay their blossoming;
And trustful birds have built their nests amid
The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing
Till one soft shower from the south shall bid,
And hither tempt the pilgrim steps of spring.
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