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We are MFOL! . . . and now we’re hopping right along to what’s next . . .
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Four Seasons
Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall These are the seasons, four in all. Weather alternates, sun and rain and snow, Leaves fall down or flowers upward grow. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall These are the seasons, four in all. Look outside anytime and you will see Just what season it is supposed to be! By Author Unknown We See Leaves
We see orange, We see brown, We see leaves, On the ground. We see yellow, We see red, We see leaves, Above our head. By Author Unknown Which one of the four seasons of the year does this poem describe? Enchantment
This is the way white enchantment is made: Snowflake on snowflake, fluttering, laid. Bushes and tree branches sparkling with white - Stars from the skies, - scintillant, light. This is the place where enchantment is made Close by a stream, where birches wove shade. All through the summer, for violets, sweet As a soft kiss; now snow-kissed, their feet. This is the song white enchantment is singing With sleigh bells and snowflakes, rhythmically ringing. By Grace Sayre Autumn Leaves
Autumn leaves are lovely, They rustle when I run, Sometimes I make a heap, And jump in them for fun! Autumn leaves float quietly down, And form a carpet on the ground, But when those leaves are stepped upon, Listen for the crackling sound! When you see crisp Autumn leaves, Gold and glowing in the sun, It’s time to say goodbye to Summer, And hello to Autumn fun! By Author Unknown Jack Frost
Someone painted pictures on my Windowpane last night - Willow trees with trailing boughs And flowers, frosty white, And lovely crystal butterflies; But when the morning sun Touched them with its golden beams, They vanished one by one. By Helen Bayley Davis Helen Bayley Davis lived in Baltimore, Maryland, United States of America. She was a poet and a lyricist. She was the author of at least eight collections of poetry, and is known for her poem, "Jack Frost." She was a member of the Baltimore Poetry Circle and the International Bookfellows. Leaves
In autumn when the trees are brown, The little leaves come tumbling down, They do not make the slightest sound, But lie so quietly on the ground, Until the wind comes puffing by, And blows them off towards the sky. By Author Unknown The First Robin
Through the chill of an early April rain I hear the note of a sweet refrain - Has the robin come so soon? Heavy and dull are the skies without, And my heart is filled with a dreary doubt, But the song is a song of June. Robin, robin, you shame my faith, Your cheery song to my spirit saith: Believe, and away with fear: I am not afraid, though the cold winds blow, I am come at the call of God, and know That spring is surely here. “So I seek my mate, and I build my nest, And I sing my song with a keener zest, For the joy that is yet to be; Already the fullness of joy I share, When my nest shall swing in the summer air On the bough of the maple-tree.” Sing on, brave robin, your song shall be An inspiration of faith to me, I, too, will begin to sing. Though my heart is chilled, and my pulse is low, And my hopes lie buried under the snow, I am sure of a coming spring. By Maria Upham Drake Maria Upham Drake was born on 2 October 1847 in Baptist, Oklahoma, United States of America. She was a poet and a lecturer. Maria Upham Drake passed on at 72 years of age on 16 September 1920 in Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America. The Wind And The Leaves
“Come, little leaves,” said the wind one day. “Come o’er the meadows with me, and play Put on your dress of red and gold, - Summer is gone, and the days grow cold.” Soon as the leaves heard the wind’s loud call, Down they came fluttering, one and all; Over the brown fields they danced and flew, Singing the soft little songs they knew. “Cricket, good-by, we’ve been friends so long; Little brook, sing us your farewell song, - Say you are sorry to see us go; Ah! you will miss us, right well we know.” “Dear little lambs, in your fleecy fold, Mother will keep you from harm and cold; Fondly we’ve watched you in vale and glade; Say, will you dream of our loving shade?” Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went; Winter had called them, and they were content. Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds, The snow laid a coverlet over their heads. By George Cooper A Winter Surprise
Last night while I was sleeping The snow came softly down And slipped on all the shrubbery A shining snowflake gown. I guess that every little bush Felt startled with surprise To find itself a cotton plant On opening up its eyes. By Solveig Paulson Russell Solveig Paulson Russell was born on 28 March 1904 in Salt Lake City, Utah, United States of America. She became a schoolteacher, a writer of children’s books, and a poet. She wrote 45 books and more than 3,400 items for periodicals. Among her books are, “Twist and Twine: The Story of Cordage” (1969) and “Peanuts, Popcorn, Ice Cream, Candy, and Soda Pop, and How They Began” (1970). At The Beach
Summer brings us nice warm sun For swimming, fishing, and lots of fun; For finding seashells in the sand; For sunbathing to get a tan; To do all these things and more At the beach and seashore. By Author Unknown Let’s Go Coasting
Let us go coasting On my brand-new sled. It is new and shiny; And is painted red! It is big and roomy; We can ride it double. Two can get on it Without any trouble. You can help me pull it; We can ride together. Let us go coasting, For it’s splendid weather! Get your coat and mittens; All the world is white. Let us go coasting While the snow is just right! By Nona Keen Duffy Spring Is Here
Spring is here, In the air, You can smell it coming, On the trees, Leaves are green, Caterpillars sunning. Birds are back, Grass is out, Busy bees are humming, On the trees, Leaves are green, Caterpillars sunning. By Author Unknown How To Make A Snow Angel
Go alone or with a best friend. Find a patch of unbroken snow. Walk on tiptoes. Step backwards Into your very last footprints. Slowly sit back onto the snow. Absolutely do not use your hands. By now you should be lying flat With snow fitting snug around you. Let your eyes drink some blue sky. Close them. Breathe normally. Move you arms back and forth. Concentrate. Think: snow angel. In a minute don’t be surprised If you start feeling a little funny. Big and small. Warm and cold. Your breath as light as a snowflake. Sweep your legs back and forth But keep both eyes tightly closed. Keep moving the arms until they Lift, tremble, wobble, or float. Stand without using your hands. Take time to get your balance. Take three deep breaths. Open your eyes. Stretch. Float. Fly! By Ralph Fletcher Spring Rain
The storm came up so very quick It couldn’t have been quicker. I should have brought my hat along; I should have brought my slicker. My hair is wet, my feet are wet, I couldn’t be much wetter. I fell into a river once But this is even better. By Marchette Chute Marchette Gaylord Chute was born on 16 August 1909 in Wayzata, Minnesota, United States of America. She became a biographer, a writer of fictional works, and a poet. Marchette Gaylord Chute passed on at 84 years of age on 6 May 1994 in Montclair, New Jersey, United States of America. Summer
The earth is warm, the sun’s ablaze, It is a time of carefree days; And bees abuzz that chance to pass, May see me snoozing in the grass. By Author Unknown Springtime
A small green frog On a big brown log; A black and yellow bee In a little green tree; A red and yellow snake By a blue-green lake, All sat and listened To a red bird sing, “Wake up, everybody, It’s spring! It’s spring!” By Author Unknown Come Join Us For A Hayride
The wagon waiting by the barn Is filled with new-mown hay, So come and join us for a ride At eventide today. The harvest moon will lead us Down the shadowed winding lane; And as we cuddle close, we’ll sing, An old time refrain. The chilly breeze at dusk will bring The scent of ripened wheat. What other scent has nature made More delicately sweet! Beyond the cornstalks piled high Like wigwams, we will pass And gather golden pumpkins from the Frosty meadow grass. Then dreaming solitary dreams Of other autumns past When we were young, we’ll reminisce And head back home at last. There’ll be cider, hot and steamy, So please say that you will stay, And come and join us for a ride At eventide today. By Nita Cain The Miracle
I had waited all the winter for a sign Something wondrous, a miracle divine; Today it came, a very lovely thing, A crocus in the close a-blossoming. Blue wings a-gleam, a song bird’s sweetest strain, In gladness for spring’s miracle again. By Annie Stone Spring
The alder by the river, Shakes out her powdery curls; The willow buds in silver, For little boys and girls. The little birds fly over, And oh, how sweet they sing! To tell the happy children, That once again ’tis spring. The gay green grass comes creeping, So soft beneath their feet; The frogs begin to ripple, A music clear and sweet. And buttercups are coming, And scarlet columbine; And in the sunny meadows, The dandelions shine. And just as many daisies, As their soft hands can hold, The little ones may gather, All fair in white and gold. Here blows the warm red clover, There peeps the violet blue; O happy little children, God made them all for you! By Celia Thaxter Celia Thaxter was born as Celia Laighton on 29 June 1835 in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, United States of America. She became a poet and a writer. Her published works include “Among the Isles of Shoals” (1878) and “An Island Garden” (1894). Celia Thaxter passed on at 58 years of age on 25 August 1894 on Appledore Island, Isles of Shoals, Maine, United States of America. Autumn
The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry’s cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I’ll put a trinket on. By Emily Dickinson Emily Dickinson was born on 10 December 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts, United States of America. Though considered one of the great poets, she was shy and reclusive. She never married, seldom left her house, and had few visitors. Only seven of her nearly 1,800 poems were published during her lifetime, all anonymously. Emily Dickinson passed on at 55 years of age on 15 May 1886 in Amherst, Massachusetts, United States of America. The first collection of her verse, titled “Poems,” was published four years later. Winter
Cold and raw the north wind doth blow, Bleak in the morning early; All the hills are covered with snow, And winter’s now come fairly. When the Snow is on the Ground The little robin grieves When the snow is on the ground, For the trees have no leaves, And no berries can be found. The air is cold, the worms are hid; For robin here what can be done? Let’s strow* around some crumbs of bread, And then he’ll live till snow is gone. By Author Unknown *strow: an old form of the word ‘strew,’ meaning ‘to scatter, or throw about in a disorderly manner.’ Bed Of Leaves
The nicest bed I know Isn’t a bed of soft white snow. Isn’t a bed of cool green grass After the noisy mowers pass. Isn’t a bed of yellow hay Making me itch for half a day But Autumn leaves in a pile that high, Deep and smelling like fall and dry. That’s the bed where I like to lie And watch the flutters of Fall go by. By Aileen Fisher Aileen Lucia Fisher was born on 9 September 1906 in Iron River, Michigan, United States of America. She became a writer of poetry, children’s books, biographies, plays, and magazine articles. Aileen Lucia Fisher passed on at 96 years of age on 2 December 2002 in Boulder, Colorado, United States of America. Song Of Summer
Here comes a bunny The first to stray Out of April And into May. And here comes a robin The first to fly Out of June And into July. Here are the fireflies Last to remember The end of August And first of September. And here comes a caterpillar The last to creep Out of summer And into sleep. By Margaret Wise Brown Margaret Wise Brown was born on 23 May 1910 in Brooklyn, New York, United States of America. She became a poet and a writer of children’s books. Her published works include, “Goodnight Moon” (1947). Margaret Wise Brown passed on at 42 years of age on 13 November 1952 in Nice, France. Winter Animals
Winter is cold, There is snow in the sky. The squirrel gathers nuts, And the wild geese fly. The fluffy red fox, Has his fur to keep warm. The bear’s in her cave, Sleeping all through the storm. By Author Unknown |