Good Morning

Today I feel like the Sun has been reborn just for me and the sounds from the cats clawing at the fence and birds waking the air with a new flight soaring and singing in an exquisite dance. Each new moment is a fresh start. Each feeling is waking for expectations. Good Morning. xxx

Life today

Life can be fun but I am constantly tired and fed up. I hope all goes well at work as its becoming a burden and I need a break.

Mr. Nobody

Mr. Nobody

                                               

I know a funny little man,

    As quiet as a mouse,

Who does the mischief that is done

    In everybody’s house!

There’s no one ever sees his face,

    And yet we all agree

That every plate we break was cracked

    By Mr. Nobody.

’Tis he who always tears out books,

    Who leaves the door ajar,

He pulls the buttons from our shirts,

    And scatters pins afar;

That squeaking door will always squeak,

    For prithee, don’t you see,

We leave the oiling to be done

    By Mr. Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire

   That kettles cannot boil;

His are the feet that bring in mud,

   And all the carpets soil.

The papers always are mislaid;

   Who had them last, but he?

There’s no one tosses them about

   But Mr. Nobody.

The finger marks upon the door

    By none of us are made;

We never leave the blinds unclosed,

    To let the curtains fade.

The ink we never spill;   the boots

    That lying round you see

Are not our boots,—they all belong

    To Mr. Nobody.

Anon

My Shadow

My Shadow

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,

And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.

He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;

I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

RL Stevenson

A Boy's Song

A Boy's Song

WHERE the pools are bright and deep,
Where the grey trout lies asleep,
Up the river and over the lea,
That 's the way for Billy and me.
Where the blackbird sings the latest,	5
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That 's the way for Billy and me.
Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hay lies thick and greenest,	10
There to track the homeward bee,
That 's the way for Billy and me.
Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Where the shadow falls the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,	15
That 's the way for Billy and me.
Why the boys should drive away
Little sweet maidens from the play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That 's the thing I never could tell.	20
But this I know, I love to play
Through the meadow, among the hay;
Up the water and over the lea,
That 's the way for Billy and me. James Hogg. 1770–1835

A House Of Cards

A house of cards
Is neat and small:
Shake the table,
It must fall.
Find the Court cards
One by one;
Raise it, roof it, -
Now it's done: -
Shake the table!
That's the fun.

Christina Georgina Rossetti :

The Echoing Green

The Echoing Green

The sun does arise,

And make happy the skies.

The merry bells ring

To welcome the Spring.

The sky-lark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,

Sing louder around,

To the bells’ cheerful sound. 

While our sports shall be seen

On the Echoing Green.

 

Old John, with white hair 

Does laugh away care,

Sitting under the oak,

Among the old folk, 

They laugh at our play, 

And soon they all say.

‘Such, such were the joys. 

When we all girls & boys, 

In our youth-time were seen, 

On the Echoing Green.’

 

Till the little ones weary

No more can be merry

The sun does descend,

And our sports have an end: 

Round the laps of their mothers, 

Many sisters and brothers,

Like birds in their nest,

Are ready for rest;

And sport no more seen,

On the darkening Green. 

William Blake