POETRY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
EMILY DICKINSON
The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly,
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when i come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer's day?
**********************
Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat--
You must have walked --
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell!
I got your letter, and the birds' --
The maples never knew
That you were coming -- I declare,
How red their faces grew!
But, March, forgive me --
And all those hills
You left for me to hue--
There was no purple suitable,
You took it all with you.
Who knocks? That April!
Lock the door!
I will not be pursued!
He stayed away a year, to call
When I am occupied.
But trifles look so trival
As soon as you have come,
That blame is just as dear as praise
And praise as mere as blame.
***************************
(for the woodpecker lovers)
His bill an auger is,
His head, a cap and frill.
He laboreth at every tree,
A worm his utmost goal | 
• Mar. 21, 2006 - Untitled Comment
Just dropping in to say "Hi". I give myself one more week to finish it. Progress is very bad. Sigh. Take care and God bless.
Ai Boon