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.

AutumnEmily Dickinson

Who has seen the wind?Neither I nor you;

But when the leaves hang trembling

The wind is passing through.Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I;But when the trees bow down

their headsThe wind is passing by.

Who Has Seen the Wind?

-Christina Rossetti

I will be the gladdest thingUnder the sun!

I will touch a hundred flowersAnd not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and cloudsWith quiet eyes,

Watch the wind bow down the grass,And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to showUp from the town,

I will mark which must be mine,And then start down!

Afternoon on a HillEdna St. Vincent Millay

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Robert Frost

Something told the wild geeseIt was time to go;Though the fields lay goldenSomething whispered, . . . "Snow".

Leaves were green and stirring,Berries luster-glossed,But beneath warm feathersSomething cautioned . . . "frost"

All the sagging orchard steamed with amber spiceBut each wild breast stiffened at remember "ice".

Something told the wild geese it was time to fly.Summer sun was on their wingsWinter in their cry!

Something Told the Wild GeeseRachel Field

A bat is bornNaked and blind and pale.

His mother makes a pocket of her tailAnd catches him. He clings to her long

furBy his thumbs and toes and teeth.

And them the mother dances through the night

Doubling and looping, soaring, somersaulting—

Her baby hangs on underneath.All night, in happiness, she hunts and

fliesHer sharp cries

Like shining needlepoints of soundGo out into the night and, echoing

back,Tell her what they have touched.

She hears how far it is, how big it is,Which way it’s going:She lives by hearing.

The mother eats the moths and gnats she catches

In full flight; in full flightThe mother drinks the water of the pond

She skims across. Her baby hangs on tight.Her baby drinks the milk she makes him

In moonlight or starlight, in mid-air.Their single shadow, printed on the moon

Or fluttering across the stars,Whirls on all night; at daybreak

The tired mother flaps home to her rafter.The others are all there.

They hang themselves up by their toes,They wrap themselves in their brown

wings.Bunched upside down, they sleep in air.Their sharp ears, their sharp teeth, their

quick sharp facesAre dull and slow and mild.

All the bright day, as the mother sleeps,She folds her wings about her sleeping

child.

A Bat is Born

-Randall Jarrell

I always like summerbest

you can eat fresh cornfrom daddy’s garden

and okraand greens

and cabbageand lots ofbarbecue

and buttermilkand homemade ice-cream

at the church picnicand listen togospel music

outsideat the churchhomecoming

and you go to the mountainswith

your grandmotherand go barefooted

and be warmall the time

not only when you go to bedand sleep

Knoxville, Tennessee

Nikki Giovanni

Dot a dot dot dot a dot dotSpotting the windowpane.

Spack a spack speck flick a flack fleckFreckling the windowpane.

A spatter a scatter a wet cat a clatterA splatter a rumble outside.

Umbrella umbrella umbrella umbrellaBumbershoot barrel of rain.

Slosh a galosh slosh a galoshSlither and slather a glide

A puddle a jump a puddle a jumpA puddle a jump puddle splosh

A juddle a pump a luddle a dumpA pudmuddle jump in and slide!

WeatherEve Merriam

The Pied Piper of HamelinRobert Browning

By famous Hanover city;The river Weser, deep and wide,Washes its wall on the southern side;A pleasanter spot you never spied;But, when begins my ditty,Almost five hundred years ago,To see the townsfolk suffer soFrom vermin, was a pity.Rats!They fought the dogs and killed the cats,And bit the babies in the cradles,And ate the cheeses out of the vats.And licked the soup from the cook’s own ladles,Split open the kegs of salted sprats,Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats,And even spoiled the women’s chats,By drowning their speakingWith shrieking and squeakingIn fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a bodyTo the Town Hall came flocking:“Tis clear,” cried they, “our Mayor’s a noddy;And as for our Corporation—shockingTo think we buy gowns lined with ermineFor dolts that can’t or won’t determineWhat’s best to rid us of our vermin!You hope, because you’re old and obese,To find in the furry civic robe ease?Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a rackingTo find the remedy we’re lacking,Or, sure as fate, we’ll send you packing!”At this the Mayor and CorporationQuaked with a mighty consternation.

Your world is as big as you make it.I know, for I used to abide

In the narrowest nest in a corner,My wings pressing close to my side.

But I sighted the distant horizonWhere the skyline encircled the sea

And I throbbed with a burning desire

To travel this immensity.I battered the cordons around me

And cradled my wings on the breeze,

Then soared to the uttermost reaches

With rapture, with power, with ease!

Your WorldGeorgia Douglas Johnson

Your world is as big as you make it.

I know, for I used to abideIn the narrowest nest in a corner,

My wings pressing close to my side.

But I sighted the distant horizonWhere the skyline encircled the

seaAnd I throbbed with a burning

desireTo travel this immensity.

I battered the cordons around meAnd cradled my wings on the

breeze,Then soared to the uttermost

reachesWith rapture, with power, with

ease!

Your WorldGeorgia Douglas Johnson

Light

NightIs Our Parchment

FirefliesFlitting

Fireflies Glimmering

Glowing Insect CalligraphersPracticing Penmanship

Six-Legged scribblersOf vanishing messages,

Fine artists in flightAdding dabs of light

Signing the June nightsAs if they were paintingsFlickering, fireflies, fireflies.

Light Is the ink we useNight

We’re firefliesFlickering

Flashing

Fireflies gleaming

Insect calligraphers

Copying sentencesSix-legged calligraphers

Fleeting graffitiFine artists in flight

Bright brush strokesSigning the June nightsAs if they were paintingsWe’re fireflies, flickering fireflies…

FirefliesPaul Fleischman

Jellicle Cats come out to-nightJellicle Cats come one come all:The Jellicle Moon is shining bright -Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball.

Jellicle Cats are black and white,Jellicle Cats are rather small;Jellicle Cats are merry and bright,And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces,Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes;They like to practise their airs and gracesAnd wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise. Jellicle Cats develop slowly,Jellicle Cats are not too big;Jellicle Cats are roly-poly,They know how to dance a gavotte and a jig.Until the Jellicle Moon appearsThey make their toilette and take their repose:Jellicle Cats wash behind their ears,Jellicle dry between their toes.

Jellicle Cats are white and black,Jellicle Cats are of moderate size;Jellicle Cats jump like a jumping-jack,Jellicle Cats have moonlit eyes.They're quitet enough in the morning hours,They're quitet enough in the afternoon,Reserving their terpsichorean powersTo dance by the light of the Jellicle Moon.

Jellicle Cats are black and white,Jellicle Cats (as I said) are small;If it happends to be a stormy nightThey will practise a caper or two in the hall.If it happens the sun is shining brightYou would say they had nothing to do at all:They are resting and saving themselves to be rightFor the Jellicle Moon and the Jellicle Ball.

T. S. elliot

The Song of the Jellicles