Related quotes: My sorrow, when she's here...

My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.

quote by Robert Frost
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My November Guest

My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise

poem by Robert Frost
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Days in Red

Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
And moon of glowing dark
Sky deep and high
Days days days in red

Flowing on hours in night
Where love lost its flight
Once those were alright
Now they no more spark

Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
Is there a horizon of ignite
Where hours go on by
Days days days in red

Flowing memories at sight
No feeling seems now right
But love's still inside
Come come babe now close abide

Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
Is there a horizon of ignite
Where hours go on by
Days days days in red

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Autumn Rain

While I sit here and ponder
I don’t see I’m drowning in my pain,
I was blinded by the sorrow
My tears have left a pool and a stain,

My heart was left broken
My mind was in a darkened haze
I’m sitting here dwelling in my final phase
Far away from my glory days

Ingrained in my mind
Are deep memories of pain,
The days of yesteryear bridges never fade away
A painful tragedy like thunder in my veins

But never are they washed away by the rain,
They embody me and so are here to stay
I lost myself so long ago
There’s no one I can blame

Autumn rain falls on me with
An eternal sunrise that never climbs
Autumn rain coming down
Another shattered soul in the lost and found

I feel I’m vanishing, vanishing gone
In autumn rain
I feel I’m vanishing, vanishing gone
In autumn rain

poem by Daniel Richards
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No Better way

He used to sandpaper the tips

of his fingers until they

caught no silk.

He brushed his teeth,

then he combed his hair,

parted it on the wrong side.

Forty-five years

and three hundred and sixty days

he still has no better ways

to say, 'I love you'.

He goes for walks around the pasture

by the pond and up the bank

and past the dead pine tree

struck by lightning

whose branches have fallen off

and lay around the ground

He walks by without a sound

wishing he could walk on and on.

His soul walks by without a sound.

poem by Midnights Voice
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This Beautiful Day

THIS BEAUTIFUL DAY

This beautiful day-
There have been so many days like this in my life-
So many good days-
So many blessed days-
Days I could walk and think and write,
As I liked -
Days just seeing the world made me happy-
For all these days-
And for whatever such days I have left-
I thank You God.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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I want to write something beautiful

I want to write something beautiful
something about the blue of your eyes
which carves my days every time they blear

I want to write something beautiful
to got something of the sorrow of the world
the lament of the winter wind
something of the dawn of sleepless faces
and something from an autumn morning rain.

I want to write something beautiful
without the fuss of the crowded streets
without the pain of the desperate people
which howl their agonies with clamorous laughs

I want to write something beautiful
as the dreams which come true
and as a fragrance of love
wet by the waves of a winter sea.

poem by George Tzouvaras
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Ego Tree

What tree would has grown in our land?
What leaves the tree would be growing?

The tree feels pain which must stand by its self
In rainy days, snowy days, windy days...

Only standing by its self is painful
But the sunshine is not lavish to give the grace

But the ego tree only standing for its self can't know the shadow of its self
In thick, in dark, in cold...

poem by Kae Morii
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God Has Given Me/So Many Days

GOD HAS GIVEN ME/ SO MANY DAYS
BIRTHDAY POEM AT SIXTY- SEVEN AND ONE- HALF YEARS OF AGE

G-d has given me
So many days
Like this
So many days of blessing
So many days
Of cold autumn rain
Of fresh wind
And fading falling leaves
Whose color still says Beauty from them.
God has given me so so much
In this life
Thank G-d for this world
And that I am still alive in it.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Crosses We Bare

Some days seem longer than others,
depending on how many crosses
we have to bare.
Each of us has a cross to carry,
for guilt, we call our own.
When the crosses get heavy,
days seem to linger with out end.
We feel at times,
no one can help us
with the crosses that we bare,
but there is always someone.
They walk beside us everyday,
a simple prayer of forgiving,
and he will help us on our way.
We can tell him all our sorrows,
our guilt’s and woes to be.
He always listens to us
as he walks with us each day.
We all know his name,
and how to speak to him,
if the crosses that we carry,
ever get to weighty to bare.

poem by David Harris
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I Love Spring

I love spring
Spring is new
It’s new blades of grass
It’s rain on a lass
It’s violets and rain
It’s a wood-scented lane
It’s a new bird song
It’s days growing long
It’s a tree in bud and puddles of mud
It’s birds in a tree and buzz from a bee
It’s kites in the sky
It’s spring. That’s why
I love spring.

poem by Mohammed Rashid
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Cherry- Tree Inn

The rafters are open to sun, moon, and star,
Thistles and nettles grow high in the bar --
The chimneys are crumbling, the log fires are dead,
And green mosses spring from the hearthstone instead.
The voices are silent, the bustle and din,
For the railroad hath ruined the Cherry-tree Inn.

Save the glimmer of stars, or the moon's pallid streams,
And the sounds of the 'possums that camp on the beams,
The bar-room is dark and the stable is still,
For the coach comes no more over Cherry-tree Hill.
No riders push on through the darkness to win
The rest and the comfort of Cherry-tree Inn.

I drift from my theme, for my memory strays
To the carrying, digging, and bushranging days --
Far back to the seasons that I love the best,
When a stream of wild diggers rushed into the west,
But the `rushes' grew feeble, and sluggish, and thin,
Till scarcely a swagman passed Cherry-tree Inn.

Do you think, my old mate (if it's thinking you be),
Of the days when you tramped to the goldfields with me?
Do you think of the day of our thirty-mile tramp,
When never a fire could we light on the camp,
And, weary and footsore and drenched to the skin,
We tramped through the darkness to Cherry-tree Inn?

Then I had a sweetheart and you had a wife,
And Johnny was more to his mother than life;
But we solemnly swore, ere that evening was done,
That we'd never return till our fortunes were won.
Next morning to harvests of folly and sin
We tramped o'er the ranges from Cherry-tree Inn.

. . . . .

The years have gone over with many a change,
And there comes an old swagman from over the range,
And faint 'neath the weight of his rain-sodden load,
He suddenly thinks of the inn by the road.
He tramps through the darkness the shelter to win,
And reaches the ruins of Cherry-tree Inn.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Week-ends

I don't know what's come to the summer
In these dull and decadent years;
But a fellow grows glummer and glummer
As promise of autumn appears;
For there's not been a sign of a week-end of shine,
Or the sun on the sea all aglimmer.
And, as the weeks pass, wet and windy, alas,
Thin hope grows yet slimmer and slimmer.

Oh, the sad days, the mad days,
Of rain and wind and mud!
The week speeds by with the sun on high
To come a sickening thud.
When the slippery slosh of the gum golosh
On the soaked and sodden ground
Thro' the country lane sounds once again
When the week-end comes around.

When I go to the bush for a week-end
From a city aglow in the sun,
My holiday comes to a bleak end
Ere half a day's length has been run.
And I gaze thro' the pane at the splattering rain,
Forlorn thro' a profitless Sunday,
And come back to town with the sun pouring down
To smile on my labours on Monday.

Oh, the weekends, when pique ends
In grim and gaunt despair!
Hope wakes anew as all week thro'
The glass is pointing fair,
And fine and warm: but a lurking storm
Behind the high hills grows
To spread dismay each Saturday
And another week-end goes.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Days of Summer

Whatever the way the summer days end,
In the type of summer is how it has been,
Whether a good one or bad one,
The last days of summer,
Can be sad or happy endings,
As each season ends,
With another one beginning,

The summer could have been,
Miserable yet,
Sun scorching us everyday,
And sunlight shining on all our faces,
It is how it is,
Out there where all is seen,
In,
Summer days of fun,
Summer days of love,
Summer days of seeing,
Summer days of been,
Out and about where summer is,

And when summer came and went?
With a mundane feeling that it left?
Was the last days of summer,
And the begining of another,
Autumn as we know it,
Fall in other places,
Where the ending of one season shows,
By the decaying of it,
When Autumn Fall shows,

Where we will wrap up and snuggle,
With warm cuppas drinks,
With a book,
Or,
Catch up on watching films,
Yet,
Still,
Musing over the summer days,
Of sunshine memories,

Now,
Warm hats and gloves,
With rustle leaves,
That rustle beneath,
Our feet as we walk,
Through the park,
And see,
The summer leaves turn,
To autumn shades,
Taking in,
The last days of summer,

Reflecting,
And remember,
The falls of Autumn's,
Is the signs of summer,
That has ended,
And minglings with,
All that falls,
From the summer ending,
To autumn beginnings,
Is the,
Decaying,
Of summer,
To regrow itself,
For next season's of summer,
When it begins again,

Yet,
In between,
There's,
Autumn,
Winter,
Spring,
Till,
Again,
Last days of summer,
And all in bloom again.

poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Ten Days Of Rain

(r. stewart, k. savigar, t. brock)
The wind cries on the boardwalk
Oh god, its cold tonight
Somewhere in the city
Someones holding her tight
Hes telling her shes beautiful
Touching her long blond hair
Hes found out all the secrets
We swore wed never share
Oh, it drives me crazy
To think of her with him
Come back, baby
Come back home again
Chorus:
Ten days of rain
Ten days of rain
My heart is filled with pain
Will she ever come back again?
Ten days of rain
She said Im tired of talking
Trying to get it through to you
You never tell me you love me
Thats all I want you to do
I thought we had a future
Something to hold on to
We even talked of children
Something I never do
She loved me like no other
She held me like a child
Come back baby, come back home again
Chorus
The thought of her still haunts me
Her voice is everywhere
Ten days of rain
Ten days of rain
I can hear the freight train whistle
I can hear the church bells toll
But telephone line, when its off the hook
Thats the loneliest sound of em all
In the letter that she wrote me
Before she went away
She said darling, always remember
Love aint a hard word to say
Ten days of rain
Ten days of rain, such pain
Will she ever come back again
I dont know, I dont know
Come back baby, Im so lonely baby
Ten days of rain, ten days of rain
Is it raining all, raining all
Raining all over this world

song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter In The Rio Grande Valley

In the Rio Grande Valley it's winter again,
Cold northerly winds and misty rain.
Grey skies rolling southward fill the sky,
And the sun is hiding, somewhere up high.

What a dreary scene the winter brings,
Bare tree branches and dying things.
We don't like winter too much down here,
But here in the valley spring is always near.

In two or three days it will be eighty again,
The sun will be out, and and gone will be the rain.
The wonder of living deep down Texas way,
Is that winter just lasts a couple of days.

1/12/11 Alton Texas

poem by Juan Olivarez
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On Autumns Earth

This is the beginning
Now carry me away
On to the faraway new day
That now is born to play

Yes this is the beginning
Moments dreamed and found
Everything in its singing
That comes again around

Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role

Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
On autumn´s earth

Yesterdays were all turning
In their beat´s echo heart
Forever in lay and burning
Poles and miles apart
Flames of their color giving
All that came from within
Days their dreams own living
As worlds take their spin

Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role

Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
On autumn´s earth

Swept away in their call
Dreams that were carried on
Love songs of colors fall
Until their moments are gone
You and I had our calling
Dreams that were not to be
Now like autumn earth's falling
All that we had is now free

Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role

Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
Times of days and worth
Each their together role
On autumn´s earth

Flowers on autumn´s earth
Reaching their own goal
On autumn´s earth

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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On Autumn´s Earth