Afternoon on a Hill

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I will be the gladdest thing

Under the sun!

I will touch a hundred flowers

And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds

With quiet eyes,

Watch the wind blow down the grass,

And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show

Up from the town,

I will mark which must be mine,

And then start down!

Earth's Crammed With Heaven

Earth's crammed with heaven
And every common bush afire with God.
But only those who see take off their shoes.
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

"The Skunk" by Joel

Joel had to write a poem about an animal for tomorrow's Literature Class. Here is what he wrote:

The Skunk
By Joel

Your coat, most so, is black as night,
With fearful stripe of white so bright,
You have no need to run or fight,
For men will run for stink or sight.

Your frightful smell,
No soap can repel,
Tomato juice lone,
Can to this stink rebel,

Do the bugs you eat
Make your form smell and reek?
Can man or beast stand
When the stink reaches peak?

You’re sometimes bred as pets,
Otherwise known as pests,
Your odor at best,
Puts a sense to the test.

You’ll never be eaten,
Or in fight be beaten,
Above all the rest,
With sin’s curse, you’ve been blessed.

Here's a poem Joel wrote today

"Leaves"
by Joel, age 13

No one seems to hear them rustle
As we get caught up in our hustle;
Birds with them will twist and tussle
To make a nest within to snuggle.

Suirrels will pack them close for heat,
Then shoo them out to keep things neat;
In fall, their colors are tough to beat,
Although, to eat, they're not so sweet.

On the ground or in a tree,
Used as a hive by wasp or bee;
A hiding place for fly or flea,
What use for leaves is there for me?

Poetry

I love poetry! I am an assistant in Joel's 7th and 8th grade Literature class at our homeschool group and I am loving that! Last week, his teacher read this great quote:

Poetry is like an imaginary garden with real toads.

Think about that!

Here is a poem I really like.

Swift Things are Beautiful
by Elizabeth Coatsworth

Swift things are beautiful:
Swallows and deer,
And lightning that falls
Bright-veined and clear,
Rivers and meteor,
Wind in the wheat,
The strong-withered horse,
The runner's sure feet.

And slow things are beautiful:
The closing of day,
The pause of the wave
That curves downward to spray,
The ember that crumbles,
The opening flower,
And the ox that moves on
In the quiet of power.