The night is very dark with a slight summer breeze, A shimmer of moon peeking through the branches of trees. I hear another’s footsteps in the distance from behind, Hopefully the owner is a person that’s very kind.
As I continue to walk further, a pounding in my heart, The moon gets brighter as the clouds start to part. I turn around as I hear the sound at a faster pace, Gleefully I shout as the moon lights up my brothers face.
When the trees their summer splendor Change to raiment red and gold, When the summer moon turns mellow, And the nights are getting cold; When the squirrels hide their acorns, And the woodchucks disappear; Then we know that it is autumn, Loveliest season of the year.
Charlotte L. Riser
October Eastern Gray Squirrel in Redbud Tree is a painting by Susan A Walton which was uploaded on September 29th, 2011. This is a painting of a pause in the action of a working squirrel’s life. It is clinging to a redbud tree, a small tree common in the Midwest and… more
I try to walk very gently through a field filled with wildflowers Not crushing them under my feet takes a short walk many hours On hot days I flap my ears over them to give out a slight breeze If not for me they would dry up for this field doesn’t have trees
Lots of bees and butterflies continually dance around my head Getting stung or one flying up my trunk is a thing I daily dread I am blessed with having such freedom and plenty of space to roam Concrete floors and iron bars is sadly what some elephants call home
Author Eileen Clark
Please check out this artist website to enjoy beautiful paintings
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Dark hills against a hollow crocus sky
Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow
And wake among the harps of leafless trees
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.
The chilly purple air is threaded through With silver from the rising moon afar, And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blue In the southwest glimmers a great gold star Above the darkening druid glens of fir Where beckoning boughs and elfin voices stir.
And so I wander through the shadows still, And look and listen with a rapt delight, Pausing again and yet again at will To drink the elusive beauty of the night, Until my soul is filled, as some deep cup, That with divine enchantment is brimmed up.