M poem

                                    -Pablo Neruda    Now we will count to twelve    and we will all keep still.    For once on the face of the Earth    let's not speak in any language,    let's stop for one second,    and not move our arms so much.    It would be an exotic moment    Without rush, without engine,    We would all be strangeness.    Fisherman in the cold sea   would not harm whales    and the man gathering salt    would look at his hurt hands.    Those who prepare green wars,    wars with gas,  wars with fire,    victory with no survivors,    would put on clean clothes    and walk about with their    brothers   in the shade,  doing nothing.   What I want should not be confused  ...

                                   -Ted Hughes  The Laburnum top is silent, quite still  In the afternoon yellow September sunlight,   A few leaves yellowing , all its seeds fallen.       https://www.pexels.com/search/the%20labu     rnum%20tree/  Till the goldfinch comes,  with a twitching chirrup  A suddenness, a starlement, at a branch end.  Then sleek as a lizard, and alert, and abrupt,   She enters the thickness, and a machine starts up  Of chitterlings, and a tremor of wings, and trillings-  The whole tree trembles and thrills.   It is the engine of her family.   She stokes it full, then flirts out to a branch-end  Showing her barred face identity mask  Then with eerie delicate whistle-chirrup whisperings  She launches away, towards the infinite   And the ...

    How do you like to go up in a swing,      Up in the air so blue.                        Oh! I think, it is the pleasantest thing,           Ever a child can do!      Up in the air and over the wall,      Till I can see so wide.             Rivers, trees, cattel and all,             Over the countryside .         Till look down to the garden ,       Down on the roof so brown.                        Up in the air I go flying again,                 Up in the air and down.                                    -Robert Louis Stevenson...

  Deep in the night;    When all is still,    A moonbeam climbs the window-sill.   Over your bed;    It softly flies,    To see if sleep has closed your eyes.      A pinch of gold;    Some fairy land,    Is clasped within that moonbeam's hand.    And if by chance;    Your are not asleep,    It comes tip-toe on gentle feet.    To touch your eyes;   With golden beam,    And take you to the land of dreams . 

Enjoy this poem      My house is red - a little house     A happy child am I .     I laugh and play the whole day long.      I hardly ever cry.            I have a tree, a green, green tree,      To shade me from the sun;      And under it I often sit,      When all my play is done. 

   Opening Day!        Up with the sun       I'm on my way,            Rushing to my school,        It's the opening day !                Holidays are over        But I'm not at all sad.        Would you like to know         What makes me so glad ?         New shoes,  new bag,         My uniform is new;          New books, new class,          A new class-teacher too!          So everything is new          And that is really fine.          Yet, What's old, and goods as gold          Are the good old friends of mine!   

                                                 Never let a thought shrivel and die          For want of a way to say it          For English is a wonderful game          And all of you can play it.               All that you do is match the words           To the brightest thoughts in your head            So that they come out clear and true           And handsomely groomed and fed -          For many of the loveliest things           Have never yet been said.         Words are the food and dress of thought          They give it its body and swing  ...