creative writer
Autumn By The thistledown's flying, though the winds are all still, On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,
By Mohsin3 years ago in Poets
The Dying Child By He could not die when trees were green, For he loved the time too well. His little hands, when flowers were seen,
After Apple-Picking B My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
A Jewish Family In A Small Valley Opposite by GENIUS of Raphael! if thy wings Might bear thee to this glen, With faithful memory left of things
First Love By I ne’er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet, Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
The Aim Was Song B Before man came to blow it right The wind once blew itself untaught, And did its loudest day and night
Birches B When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
lord_byron Damaetas b In law an infant, and in years a boy, In mind a slave to every vicious joy; From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;
The Good-Morrow By I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Annabel Lee By It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee;
I Am! By I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes—
The Icecream People by the lady has me temporarily off the bottle and now the pecker stands up better. however, things change overnight--