A place to add your poems forum: Very moving.
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| Hello, OUT IN THE FIELDS. By Elizabeth Barrett Browning The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the seas, Among the winds at play; Among the lowing of the herds, The rustling of the trees, Among the singing of the birds, The humming of the bees. The foolish fears of what might happen, I cast them all away Amomg the clover-scented grass, Among the new-mown hay; Among the husking of the corn, Where drowsy poppies nod, Where ill thoughts die and good are born, Out in the fields with god. |
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| Very nice, sure glad you stopped in and posted your poem, hope you come back again. Doris |
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Hello Kareoke MY GET - UP -AND - GO HAS GOT UP AND WENT WRITTEN IN 1972 BY MRS F. WINESON How do I know that my youth is all spent? Well - my get-up-and-go has got up and went. But in spite of it all, I am able to grin When I think where my get-up-and-go has been. Old age is golden as I have heard sain But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed, With my ears in the drawer and my teeth in a cup, My eyes on the table untill I wake up. Ere sleep dims my eyes I say to myself, Is there anything else to be laid on the shelf? I'm happy to say as I close then the door My friends are the same, or perhaps even more. When I was young and my slippers were red, I could kick up my heels right over my head, WhenI grew older my slippers were blue, But I could still dance the whole night through. Now I am old and my slippers are black I walk to the store and I Puff my way back, The reason I know my youth is all spent Is my get-up-and-go has got up and went. But I really don't mind when I think with a grin of all the grand places my get has been, Since I've retired from Life's competition Ibusy myself with freigned repetion. I get up each morning, dust off my wits, Pick up the paper and read the 'Obits' If my name is missing, I know I'm not dead, So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed. Hope you enjoyed this ladies poem. Take care. Muriel |
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Funny poem, Muriel! Some days I feel like that, Ha!  |
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| Muriel I LOVE it, and it is so true. |
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You and me both, Peter has even bought me a walking stick, do you think he is hinting about my age?, Hee Hee Muriel |
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| Oh, Muriel, I was just trying to remember that poem this morning! I'm so glad you posted it! Confidence is that feeling you have right before you do something really stupid. |
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With more Service men/Women been killed, here is a little quiet corner. DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP. By Mary Elizabeth Frye. Do not stand at my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autum rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there, I did not die. May god bless them all. Muriel |
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| That is truly a wonderful poem |
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Pleased you liked the poem. Muriel |
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