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The Hayloft 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.
Hugo at the Hayloft (Henk van Gerven - written August 2018) With all the stories told he came by name into the house he flew on Eve's far woven wings He landed on the table to be heard be spoken of To exist in ancient land eternal rocks and waterfalls In meadows flowered by sunny hearts in new dscovered friends There he said farewell again promised not to die To travel circles drop by drop to lowlands from up high
Are you weary 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 ChildW 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. A cackle, 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
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