To Autumn

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To Autumn

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

John Keats
Born in 1795, John Keats was an English Romantic poet and author of three poems considered to be among the finest in the English language.

The Love of October

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I get excited at this time of year

A bit of October chill in the air 

Colored leaves bounce with a flare

Tents going up for the country fair

 

Crisp brown leaves crunching under my feet

Huge bales of  hay resting in the fields

Corn stalks gathered round and tied neat

Bushel baskets of corn they do yield

 

Pumpkins and apples at roadside stands

Jars of blackberry and strawberry jams

Buckets of blueberries picked for pies

Leaving shrubs and bushes barren and dry


Jugs of apple cider brewed ever so sweet

Time for hot coco and marshmellow treat

Bring out the wool hats and wool sweaters

All these gifts from God, life couldn’t be better

 

By Eileen

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Winter & Reading

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Glenda Gleave  — Tell Me the Stories of Jesus (800x723):

                                                         A Book

A book, I think, is very like
A little golden door
That takes me into places
Where I’ve never been before.

It leads me into fairyland
Or countries strange and far
And, best of all, the golden door
Always stands ajar.

                                                      by Adelaide Love

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http://poemesandquotes.spruz.com/

The Cottage

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The Cottage

Here in turn succeed and rule
Carter, smith, and village fool,
Then again the place is known
As tavern, shop, and Sunday-school;
Now somehow it’s come to me
To light the fire and hold the key,
Here in Heaven to reign alo

 ~*~

All the walls are white with lime,
Big blue periwinkles climb
And kiss the crumbling window-sill;
Snug inside I sit and rhyme,
Planning, poem, book, or fable,
At my darling beech-wood table
Fresh with bluebells from the hill.

 ~*~ 

Through the window I can see
Rooks above the cherry-tree,
Sparrows in the violet bed,
Bramble-bush and bumble-bee,
And old red bracken smoulders still
Among boulders on the hill,
Far too bright to seem quite d

 ~*~

But old Death, who can’t forget,
Waits his time and watches yet,
Waits and watches by the door.
Look, he’s got a great new net,
And when my fighting starts afresh
Stouter cord and smaller mesh
Won’t be cheated as before.

~*~

Flowers that smile nor birds that sing.
Bumble-bee nor butterfly,
Nor grassy hill nor anything
Of magic keep me safe to rhyme
In this Heaven beyond my time.
No! for Death is waiting by.
 
Robert Graves’s ~  (1895-1985)

Dixie’s Song

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Dixie’s Song
 *
She’s such a little brat cat,
Still I love her so.
I gave her the name Dixie
We’re from the south you know.
 *
She’s such a little rascal,
By her eyes you can tell.
So often she gets in trouble,
I laugh rather then to yell.
 *
After I make my bed,
She crawls up under the spread.
After I clean  her litter box out,
She jumps in and scatters it all about.
*
When I’m eating my dinner,
She sits near and waits for a bite,
If I don’t give her any,
She paws at my food with delight.
*
kitchen waste basket is always turned over,
House plants often dumped on the floor.
Even saw her once swinging from the bird feeder,
At times I think I can’t take anymore.
 *
Still I don’t know what I’d do without her,
My sweet little funny face.
My home she fills with mischief and joy,
In my heart she has filled every space.
 *
Eileen