The grass grew shoulder high,
Till the shining scythes went far and wide,
And cut it down to dry.
The green and sweetly smelling crops,
They led the waggons home,
And they piled them here in mountain tops,
For mountaineers to roam.
Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail,
Mount Eagle and Mount High,
The mice that in these mountains dwell,
No happier than I!
O what joy to clamber there,
O what a place for play,
With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,
The happy hills of hay.
We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
Does your burden seem too great?
Are you fighting uphill battles,
Struggling with a hostile fate?
The milestone at the turning point
May be a few steps round the bend.
Courage!…This may be the spot
Where joys return and troubles end.
The Happy Child
W H Davies (1871 - 1940)
I saw this day sweet flowers grow thick
But not one like the child did pick
I heard the packhounds in green park
But no dog like the child heard bark.
I heard this day bird after bird
But not one like the child has heard
A hundred butterflies saw I
But not one like the child saw fly
I saw the horse roll in grass
But no horse like the child saw pass
My world this day has lovely been
But not like what the child has seen
A Long Fall
James Rauber (1998 - )
So grand and tall
rustling leaves like emeralds,
standing on tall pillars,
pulsing with golden blood.
They suck on the sapphire water,
Like ants collecting for the nest.
The ground, a desert to be crossed by their winding limbs.
Their silent chatter is all around,
Birds, land and whistle their thanks, to the giants.
The sun is their god,
a great being that keeps them alive for a hundred years.
then a roar pierces the silence,
followed, by a groan, like a mother losing her child.
Their long arms,
fall from the stars,
and a crash to earth, like thunder.
As they fall, silvr droplets fall,
the birds screech,
ruby fruit hits the ground, and breaks, like a broken heart.
The snapping of tortured bones, is deafening.
Te ground is black,
the smell of fresh soil, fills the air,
black, raven black, winding arms, reach to the heavens,
as if begging for another chance,
a chance to stand tall over all.
But, silence, is their only reply