If bored with prose in general,
Pick up a collection, or some poem of Emily Dickinson's. While reading, hum vigorously the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas"
One of my old sneasonals, I have reams of material from before the stroke.
April 17, 2000
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April showers have come and gone.
Some have even mowed the lawn.
Now, leaves and buds with ice have fused.
The daffodils are _not_ amused.
We've had warm days, with lots of sun.
We've even got some yard work done.
The scrapers could have been less used.
The daffodils are _not_ amused.
They say late Easters are to blame.
It could be nicer, just the same.
I'm not the only one bemused.
The daffodils are _not_ amused.
Bombadil, watching the sky fall
I went from a Dr Seuss type meter to more of a Poe later on. I pretty much put it all away a dozen years ago but there is an occasional remaining glimmer.
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Not as serial as Wordsworth's Daffodils
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
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.
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So, then with Emily
really, hum along! The Yellow Rose of Texas! Her dark soul needs to be uplift
At random``````````````````
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
Superior Glory be
But that Cloud and its Auxiliaries
Are forever lost to me
Had I but further scanned
Had I secured the Glow
In an Hermetic Memory
It had availed me now.
Never to pass the Angel
With a glance and a Bow
Till I am firm in Heaven
Is my intention now.
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In addendum, another of my sneasonals and with that, will pass the mic
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March 2007
Rights Of Spring
"We have the right to warmer weather"; say those wearing fur, or
feather. In the trees they escalade, to put a plan together.
"We have the right of warmer days"; The equinox means stouter rays.
"Wouldst the sun just promenade, we'd get on with our ways"
Wrongfully (while some were boppin') snow plowed streets had robins
hoppin'. In hungered St. Pat's parade, the stores were closed when they
went shopping.
"We have the right to see this season" Chanting now, all those with
reason. "Bare the bones of just one glade" There must be something here
that's pleasing.
Rightfully the estuary nudges floes, flotsam to carry. Soon lilies will
provide shade for finned friends that think sun too merry.
"We have the right, to sound off thus" It's not just Whip o wills that
cuss. Now, there's a bird that's not afraid. We sing of them, they sing
to us.
"We have the right to not see rain" At least not every day again.
Though, snow does melt in its cascade. Dry days we toast in warm
refrain.
Not such a simple writ to write, even though some share this plight. A
few of us have somewhat grayed. Spring's welcome here, though winter's
stayed.
{curtsy}