A Bit of Poetry for Thanksgiving Day

Today is Thanksgiving Day. Here is an anonymous bit of poetry for Thanksgiving.

The year rolls round its circle,
The seasons come and go.
The harvest days are ended,
And chilly north winds blow.
Orchards have lent their treasures,
And fields their yellow grain,
So open wide the door-way,
Thanksgiving comes again.

Source: Thoughts from the Mountains (Heartland Samplers, Inc., 1992)

An Observation by Thoreau on 28 November 1859

On this day in 1859, Henry David Thoreau wrote the following observation in his journal:

There is scarcely a wood of sufficient size and density left now for an owl to haunt in, and if I hear one hoot I may be sure where he is.

Source: Daily Observations: Thoreau on the Days of the Year (2005), edited by Steve Grant

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)

To read an article about Thoreau, click here.

A Song of the Tewa People

May the warp be the white light of morning,
May the weft be the red light of evening,
May the fringes be the falling rain,
May the border be the standing rainbow.
Thus weave for us a garment of brightness.

Source: Thoughts from the Mountains (Heartland Samplers, Inc., 1992)

To read an article about the Tewa people, click here.

Kind Words

Learn to speak kind words -- nobody resents them.
     --Author Unknown

Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.
     --The Bible: Colossians 4:6 (New International Version)


Source: Thoughts from the Mountains (Heartland Samplers, Inc., 1992)

To read an article about the apostle Paul's Epistle to the Colossians, click here.

The Source of Joys

THE SOURCE OF JOYS

A found poem of mine from Thoughts from the Mountains
(Heartland Samplers, Inc., 1992)

Sigurd F. Olson
wrote, "Joys come from simple
and natural things,

"mists over meadows,
sunlight on leaves, the path of
the moon over water."


To read an article about Sigurd F. Olson, click here.

A Bit of Poetry by Robert Bridges

From The Growth of Love (1876)
by Robert Bridges

      Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid
A million buds but stay their blossoming;
And trustful birds have built their nests amid
The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing
Till one soft shower from the south shall bid,
And hither tempt the pilgrim steps of spring.

Robert Seymour Bridges (1844-1930)

English poet; poet laureate (1913-30)

To read an article about Robert Bridges, click here.