Winter Is On It’s Way

All the trees are almost barren,
Now I can see farther across the hills.
Heavy knit sweaters folks are wearing,
Frost each morning sits on my windowsills.
Gathering wood for my old iron stove, 
Hanging bird feeders in a nearby grove.
Filling my cup with hot spiced tea,
I’ll call on an old friend to share it with me.

Author: Eileen Clark ~ November 2018

Painting ~ Sycamores on Clear Creek, Oil on Canvas

John Elwood Bundy 1853 ~ 1913,

Image;:  http://richmondartmuseum.org/collections/richmond-group/

AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY

Image Found on Pinterest

The day is ending,
The night is descending;
The marsh is frozen,
The river dead.

Through clouds like ashes
The red sun flashes
On village windows
That glimmer red.

The snow recommences;
The buried fences
Mark no longer
The road o'er the plain;

While through the meadows,
Like fearful shadows,
Slowly passes
A funeral train.

The bell is pealing,
And every feeling
Within me responds
To the dismal knell;

Shadows are trailing,
My heart is bewailing
And tolling within
Like a funeral bell.

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was a Harvard scholar versed in several European languages. He was heavily influenced by Romanticism and made a name as a poet and novelist with works like Hyperion, Evangeline, Poems on Slavery and The Song of Hiawatha. He was also known for his translation of Dante’s The Divine Comedy. 

https://www.biography.com/writer/henry-wadsworth-longfello