- Published on
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
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
- Published on
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
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
- Published on
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
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
- Published on
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
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
- Published on
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.
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.
- Published on
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
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
- Published on
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
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
- Published on
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 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
- Published on
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
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
- Published on
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.
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.
