Everywhere in the garden flowers grow in bright colours
Everywhere in the garden flowers grow in bright colours
and in this small paradise the last winter wind blows,
when the air is filled with the smell of jasmine and gardenia
and with each other we are without talking somewhat familiar
when the other world of work and worries is reduced,
when we hear doves sing their songs of love,
when the sun like a red ball returns to its resting place,
when sparrows watch us from tree branches
and the evening star and the darkness comes suddenly
but still we are smitten with each other,
with something intimate in each moment
when the moon hangs red brown
and the I find in you a resting place for my heart,
some joy and happiness in a world full of pain and sorrow.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Seasons
I
As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.
The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.
Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings
until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.
II
Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid
until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food
and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble
until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.
III
Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing
but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe
and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open
when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let me keep watch
Let me keep watch
Over your body when
You are resting in peace.
Let me sacrifice
My meditation to you
When you are resting in peace
Let me protect your body
From rotting
When you are resting in peace.
Let me protect your memories
And dreamless dreams
When you are resting in peace.
Let me plant a fruit tree
Above you that I may still eat
When you are resting in peace.
Let me storm the gates of heaven
When you are resting in peace.
Let me give you oblation
Of our experience
When you are resting in peace.
Let me breathe for you
When you are resting in peace.
Let me douse the fires of hell
When you are resting in peace.
Let me glorify your name
When you are resting in peace.
Let me be your counterpoint
When you are resting in peace.
Let me overcome the light
When you are resting in peace.
Let me touch your organs
When you are resting in peace.
Let me drink your water
When you are resting in peace.
Let me describe your bones
When you are resting in peace.
Let me dream your dreams
When you are resting in peace.
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Birthday Song
Written by kim & ricki wilde
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Theres a forest, a beautiful place
The sun always shines upon your face
And the wind blows away
The troubles inside your mind
Youll find your secret garden
A place that nobody knows (nobody knows)
Where you can go
(scarlett) the world looks bright today but one day youll want to cry
(scarlett) (ah-ah) and when your sky looks grey theres one thing I hope youll know
Theres a place you can go
In the distance, your life in the wings
Who knows what emotions it will bring
But the secrets you hold will help you through anything
(ah-ah) youll find your secret garden
(ah-ah) a place that nobody knows (nobody knows)
Where you can go
(scarlett) the world looks bright today but one day youll want to cry
(scarlett) (ah-ah) and when your sky looks grey theres one thing I hope youll know
Theres a place you can go
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Oh so dont be afraid
If you trust the voice inside of you
Itll guide you on your way
On your way
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
(scarlett) the world looks bright today but one day youll want to cry
(scarlett) (ah-ah) and when your sky looks grey theres one thing I hope youll know
(scarlett) youll find your secret garden, somewhere that you can go
(scarlett) (ah-ah) somewhere where you can grow
Scarlett
Theres a place you can go
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
Ad lib to fade
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nature’s Christmas tree
I saw the most beautiful Christmas tree,
Adorned with a star,
For the world to see,
Standing proudly in the night,
On the top of the tree
Was a bright shining light,
Soft blankets of snow,
Covering the leaves,
This is the time,
For the world to find peace.
Inside the heart of that tree
there may be natures
Small creatures of the wild,
On top of the tree,
in the world so dark,
A star shines for the wonders
of man, woman and child,
The birds sing sweet songs,
That words can’t speak,
Look into your heart,
For the truth you seek,
The proof is
The star
,
Shining through the trees,
Don’t you think it’s time
For the world to find some peace?
Look into the distance,
It shines near and far,
For the prince of peace
God sent a shining star
For the world to see
Look on top of Nature’s Christmas tree
poem by Judy Arline Puckett
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Place In This World
Words: michael w. smith and wayne kirkpatrick
Music: michael w. smith
The wind is moving
But I am standing still
A life of pages
Waiting to be filled
A heart thats hopeful
A head thats full of dreams
But this becoming
Is harder than it seems
Feels like im
Chorus:
Looking for a reason
Roaming through the night to find
My place in this world
My place in this world
Not a lot to lean on
I need your light to help me find
My place in this world
My place in this world
If there are millions
Down on their knees
Among the many
Can you still hear me
Hear me asking
Where do I belong
Is there a vision
That I can call my own
Show me im
Chorus
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When the sun goes down late in the afternoon (anaphora poem)
When late in the afternoon the sun hangs just above the trees and hillocks,
I think that you must experience the colours of the clouds yourself
I think that it would be pretty in a landscape painting,
I think that this dusk brings a silence, that it’s lonely without you,
I think that you are late, are maybe still working, or have got some other plans
I think that the gathering clouds will catch you with rain,
I think that the doves tomorrow evening will also be in love and coo like this,
I think that the jasmine and lavender tomorrow evening will also fill the air.
I think I will dream of branches that hit from the wind on the roof,
I think that maybe tomorrow I will see you for the last time.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Highveld
(after Toon van den Heever)
I
In the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open
where rock rabbits, steenbok and baboons revel,
you see the wind skipping through the long grass
and you can still believe in God and His angels,
the rain gathers with thunder
where through the open spaces you can see far into the veldt,
you are astounded by the beauty of flowering proteas
and you still can realize your dependence
but when the city’s rumbling becomes too much,
the jacarandas start flowering in the streets,
buildings of steel and concrete start to curtail you,
you dream about wild flowers appearing everywhere
and it’s the places of a child that you miss,
in the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance.
II
In the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance
and the wind rollicks through the grass
the sky is pure blue and you can look for hours at it,
there you can find freedom from the city’s imprisonment.
When the wind rustles through the march you loose all sadness,
you see the African red-knobbed coot gathering her chickens,
you can hear the finches’ caper, branches full together,
you see every great small happening,
how wild flowers of every imaginable colour
grow as if planted in secret
(and I will go back if I only could)
where I can find some serenity, can have peace
where I will know about God’s heritage;
there the sun shines.
III
There the sun shines
where proteas and aloes flower wildly,
bright up to the horizon
coming out of the earth by themselves
with violets growing purple-blue right through the marsh,
with daisies stretching white over the veldt,
with long tailed widow birds flapping their wings
and the earth is covered with long green grass.
To this piece of ground I am trapped
even when my days are drawing to their end,
it goes even to my heart’s deepest yearning,
with every plant, bush and flower
as it’s bought with sweat and blood,
nobody can strip it from me.
IV
Nobody can strip it from me,
I have to go back to where the sun hangs golden
in the sapphire heaven, I have got to strip the city from me
(but if I only could)
the big desire stays and out of the town I must go
away from the ambulance and police sirens that cuts through everything,
trains whistling almost endlessly,
I have got to go to where only the frog choir and crickets sing.
Again I have got to get the smell of sugar bushes,
smell the rain, spring, summer and even autumn
I must get away from a world where tinned pleasure seduces,
where people use other people for their own pleasure.
I want to stand in the green fields of grass,
when the day dies.
V
When the day dies
letting its last rays fall,
with the birds flying to their nests
darkness comes to this part of the universe,
the doves at dusk still call to each other
as if their voices bind them in the darkness,
you can see the moon sailing golden-yellow through the sky,
you are sometimes blinded by the bright rays,
the city lights glitter far away
in all the colours of the rainbow,
here you want to bond your life to a loved one,
catching her moments long in your eye
when people come together here,
the madness of the human existence is exorcised.
VI
The madness of the human existence is exorcised
even in later years past your own youth,
when you are in the world that your heart desires,
you want to invite the new spring to stay with you
shaking out that which bothers and torments to the early summer wind,
feeling the effervescence of new life,
blinded by the sun you want to find healing
while the whole of spring washes through your life
with the light, air, the flowers, birds and sun splashing down
as if your autumn is only in your imagination,
you want to wash yourself clean from old age,
you are searching for exorcism from the darkness
there are still flowers sprouting out everywhere,
when the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees.
VII
When the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees
with branches being full of coloured leaves,
the sun is still heating as in summer
before the first biting winds begin to whine.
I see opened pod upon opened pod
that lays brown scorched without any signs of seeds,
the dull blue sky has clouds in milky white,
trees become a wild watermill
that is halfway skeleton, halfway still carrying leaves,
afternoons are still drawn out
and even when days earlier end in winter
it’s a time without equal,
as if the summer can last forever,
in the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Almond Tree
This snowy cold December morning
the pen
is full of almond branches, leaves
and black gnarled twigs covered
with white blossoms
the scent of that tree is intoxicating
for here on the real earth,
such trees do not ripen,
nor bear the fruit of that tree.
As children our first movement is to sing joyous songs,
innocent voices, filling mountains and dales with arias.
As adults our first movement is toward joy,
yet we give it away, venting full expression
to a gloomy tho not unfamiliar view of life.
once delighted with the world as children
now the world is in a tangle,
for opened eyes have seen only the glow of fires,
massacres, injustices, humiliations,
and the unrelenting shame
of braggarts and despots.
I look at the pen, it's branches, twigs, leaves
now covered, with cherry blossoms
and breathe in the intoxicating scent of that tree
knowing full well such a tree does not grow in dirt
nor can humanity cut down that tree.
That tree does not desire to save
nations or people
heal the sick,
raise the dead,
connive with politicians,
nor change drunkards and fools
with songs of hope...
The only goal is this, only this
that I see and smell the almond tree,
learn to look with love,
heal this heart,
without knowing from various ills-
for that almond tree says to me: Friend
stand in the glow of ripeness with me
not knowing what purpose served.
Through worm filled tufts
in that sweet garden
that almond tree raises it's eyes
and every blossom
enjoys the air it breathes
poem by Liberatore Suffoletta
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Paradise Found
I am lost inside
A world of my own,
A world that I painted inside of my thoughts
Within a figment of my imagination-
I have taken myself on a journey to a place
I call paradise-
Inside this place I call paradise
I am lost,
Inside this place I call paradise,
I am alone-
Surrounded by trees and mountains,
Violet in hue – wildflowers would grow and
Grass grows high, caressing my ankles
In an almost loving way-
Inside the world of my thoughts
I step inside this paradise I have found and as I
Lose myself within a dream,
In less than a moment’s time,
My imagination has succumbed
To this magical land of my delusions-
Towards this place where I shall forever remain-
I am lost, I am alone but here in this place I call paradise,
Surrounded by trees and mountains,
Violet in hue and where wildflowers grow and
Grass grows high-
In a strange sort of way, I am not really alone-
I have my thoughts, my dreams and my fantasies and
The voices only I can hear are my constant companions-
Birds, trees and forget-me- knots are truly my friends-
In all actuality, I am no longer lost as
I was in that world outside of my dreams
Within that world into which I was born-
In that world where people have always hurt, betrayed and lied to me-
It was inside that world I was truly lost and alone-
I shall never return to that world.
I have lost myself within a dream and in truth,
I have finally found who I truly am and as I listen to the singing
Of the nightingale, the water rushing in the creek below,
A gentle breeze rustling the leaves upon the trees and
As I watch the sun ascend over the mountains,
The deer running freely and
I begin to sing a song of freedom and peace of mind-
Now I know the true meaning of loss and loneliness-
That is being trapped inside a world laden with myriads of people
Who have and shall always hurt and betray one another, as
Every moment in time rapidly advances too fast to control-
As I glance upward towards this sky of azure-blue,
I lock that phantasmal door that separates fantasy from reality-
Delighted to say that this fantasy has become my new reality and
I have found myself within the world of my dreams,
Surrounded by trees and mountains, violet in hue and
Where wildflowers grow plentifully and
When the sun descends behind the mountains and darkness overcomes
Here in my paradise- I can begin to count the stars and
Dance with the moon on the horizon- to the tune of
The singing of the nightingale-alive in my very own heaven and paradise,
Not lost but found and never again alone-
Here inside the world of my fantasies,
Where I have been reborn, within this magical land of my dreams,
Where I shall always sing a song of freedom as I joyfully wish upon a star-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Disillusionment
Outside the wild stormy wind blows
and it's full of sorrow as if it cannot find any comfort,
in this winter branches are stripped from trees,
and I am blinded, are not able to find hope;
too late I had to learn that love is cruel,
for this great pain there is no forgiveness.
With a kind of innocence I loved you
from the moment that our relationship started
but your treason comes as my greatest fear,
it sounds absurd that there can be pleasure in pain,
and every between us dies with your confession,
for this great pain there is no forgiveness.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sailor's Garden
There's a soft wind singing in the idle rigging,
High tide splashing, and a young pale moon,
Lights in a window and a fiddle jigging
Over and over there the same short tune.
Oh, was it the tide along the ship's side sighing,
Or was it the sighing wind that breaths and blows,
Came like a voice across the deep crying,
Set my heart a-thinking how my garden grows?
Five years ago it was I planted roses,
Five years ago (the bush is grown a tree):
Five years ago, and once I've seen my posies,
Five years ago - and once they bloomed for me!
I was home in Spring, bloom was in May then,
Birds all were building and buds were on the tree!
When the birds were flown, oh, I was far away then;
When the rose was open I was far at sea.
I was home in autumn; winds of cold November
Shaking the leaf that shivered on the tree;
Brown leaves that sighed of sorrow to remember
Flowers that had fallen and I far at sea.
Oh, many are the roads that lead you here and yonder,
Oh, many are the ways about the world that go;
But the longest way of all's the sailor's way to wander
To the good North Country and an Isle I know.
Oh, many are the winds about the seas a-singing,
Oh, many are the songs they sing both night and noon:
But whether it be good or ill that they come bringing
The best of all's the wind that blows us home in June.
Home, home in June - and soon to be a-going;
Home, home in June - we may not long remain;
Home, home in June, just to see the garden growing,
And then fare you well till you greet us home again.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Night Jasmine- Tree of Sorrow
Mild, balmy breeze,
Hauntingly fragrant
With Night Jasmine.
A small evergreen tree,
Twinkling
With ivory white flowers
In my garden,
Resplendent at night,
Like the star
Studded sky.
Before the day breaks,
The tree silently sheds
Its crowning glory
On Mother Earth’s breast.
To pay homage
In all humility.
Overcome with wonder
I find myself ponder,
As I gather the flowers
In my wicker basket
On my way to the temple.
To offer
To the deity
At the altar.
Oh, Harshingar,
Why are you
Called
The Tree of Sorrow?
Night Jasmine is called Harshingar and Paarijatta in India its
A sacred tree, grown in temples. Flowers are offered to the deity in the temples. there are many myths associated with it.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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I Told You
I told you the winter would go, love,
I told you the winter would go,
That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came,
And you smiled when I told you so.
You said the blustering fellow
Would never yield to a breeze,
That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death
The flowers, the birds, and trees.
And I told you the snow would melt, love,
In the passionate glance o' the sun;
And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees,
Would come back again, one by one.
That the great, gray clouds would vanish,
And the sky turn tender and blue;
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring
And, love, it has all come true.
I told you that sorrow would fade, love,
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again;
That hope would creep out of the shadows,
And back to its nest in your heart,
And gladness would come, and find its old home,
And that sorrow at length would depart.
I told you that grief seldom killed, love,
Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.
But the world is so bright, and full of warm light
That 'twould waken at length, in its smile.
Ah, love! was I not a true prophet?
There's a sweet happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has flown - the snow-drift is gone,
And the buttercups bloom in its place.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Dreary Night
What happened on that day before the sun set?
Has anyone ever seen a star in the sky on a dreary night?
Has anyone ever ridden upon the tail of a shooting star?
Too hard for me to believe, as I cannot fathom reality-
I would go in my father’s garden trying to find myself- though
All I can see are the roses-
My eyes see clearly and I look all about but all I see are roses.
Yesterday I was walking home terrified of people walking behind me.
I saw a daffodil in full bloom, in all of its glory.
But I wept, though unobtrusively- tears of destitute fear.
It cannot be spring on the fourth day of February,
Although I may long for it to be-
I cannot sing songs of love and hopefulness, as
I have never been in love, or never wished to be.
I ask myself- have you ever seen a star on a dreary night?
Did you ever ride bareback upon the tail of a shooting star?
My sanity is buried beneath tons of stones upon
Which I have fallen, while running, trying to escape the pathway of my delusions-
I am strong inside, I have been told, and I rarely scream aloud.
When I close my eyes all I can see are roses-
As those growing in my father’s garden-
It has been years since he has passed away.
I hear voices early in the morning threatening me.
They cannot be silenced. It is still dark outside.
But when I close my eyes I can still see the roses- yellow, red and white-
I ask myself- what happened on that night I recall, twenty years ago?
My father died and his garden remains-
My mother died soon afterward, leaving nothing but memories behind.
I remember the daffodil I saw yesterday-
I should have picked it for my mother and placed it in a vase-
But she would never see it because she left this world- without saying “goodbyeâ€.
I am a stranger to this world and am still trying to find my way through the darkness.
I could take a ride on the tail of a shooting star and close my eyes and dream, as
I am searching for a new place in time, even though mysteriously-
When I close my eyes- all I can see are the roses dancing in a gentle winter’s breeze,
Though they are now withering away and dying.
It is a dreary winter’s night - but the stars are out and the moon is full.
It now illuminates the path I walk and I would give my soul to the world for
Some peace of mind and all I can do is close my eyes and
Follow the pathway of my fantasies and pray-
My wish would be to see the light shine upon the world of my delusions.
As I close my eyes and wish upon a star I weep- though
All I can see are roses, their petals to the wind- dead to the world outside.
Darkness prevails but I believe I see a star on this dreary night, silencing my tears.
And while that daffodil looks striking beneath the light of the full moon-
A night has never looked so beautiful, not even in a dream.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Mystic Moon
the mystic moon she shines so bright
it fills our hearts with the power of light
mystic me she calls to us
for us to live a life we can not rush
the mystic moon
her silver wind
blows through our world
and binds us to her
mystic moon
why do you love us so
we are born of darkness
yet you shine your light as our protector
mystic moon i understand
you are the darkness in wich we command
poem by Jasmine Appelhaus
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Building Bridges
I came from another place
I was born under a different star and
That is what I believe- When the rain fell, I did not grow,
In the sunlight I could not see what was ahead of me,
That sun was so far away- although far away from everyone,
I know and I believe- Building bridges in my sleep
Trying to get to a place where
I would grow and my thoughts would be in control-
Walking pathways in my wakefulness uphill and down
Trying to find a place where I would fit,
As would a piece in a jigsaw puzzle or
Perhaps just to be heard, or understood?
Here alone I can hear my thoughts as they speak to me,
Almost like far away voices echoing within the back of my mind-
My soul was snatched away at birth or I was born under a different star-
To where I wish I could return-
If I could fly with broken wings, I would,
If I could cry tears of joy, not sorrow, I would-
I am an angry spirit building ladders out of time-
That time I feel is running out-
Picking roses in vain trying to find a purpose here-
Building bridges when I sleep,
Where I would cross to another place in time,
I continue to walk pathways in my wakefulness
Until I find a place where I could grow with the flowers and
Find beauty and a purpose in this world
Because I don't know where that star into which I was born is to be-
Perhaps it was a shooting star traveling across the universe-
I got lost along the way and landed here -
A rare bird whose wings have broken and cannot fly-
So I will continue to build those bridges in my sleep and
Walk uphill and downward in my wakefulness-
Until my thoughts are in control and when my thoughts are in control, and
I become a flower or better yet a tree, just happy to be growing
Amongst nature- flowers and trees don't weep or feel the pain
Of being threatened or lost-I shall grow until I touch the sky and
Meet face to face with the sun which shall shine hope upon me and
Everybody knows that trees and flowers haven't a care and
Just stand looking strikingly beautiful- they have no wounded spirits-
They are loved by everyone and because they have no souls,
They are never misunderstood…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Over The Land Is April
OVER the land is April,
Over my heart a rose;
Over the high, brown mountain
The sound of singing goes.
Say, love, do you hear me,
Hear my sonnets ring?
Over the high, brown mountain,
Love, do you hear me sing?
By highway, love, and byway
The snows succeed the rose.
Over the high, brown mountain
The wind of winter blows.
Say, love, do you hear me,
Hear my sonnets ring?
Over the high, brown mountain
I sound the song of spring,
I throw the flowers of spring.
Do you hear the song of spring?
Hear you the songs of spring?
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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In the spring garden
In the spring garden
~
In the spring garden
Birds sing and chatter
While flowers raise their heads
To greet the morning sun
A garden filled with colour bright
A garden which now fills with life
The bee and the butterfly hover
From flower to flower gathering nectar
Seeding the flowers blossom
Throughout the spring garden
The dew glistens upon the grass
While the wind gently rolls in the tree
All the world slowly waking
Soon to this bounty of great beauty
Every hue from natures pallet
Is here free for all to see
In the spring garden
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sing To Me
Sing to me! Something of sunlight and bloom,
I am so compassed with sorrow and gloom,
I am so sick with the world’s noisse and strife, -
Sing of the beauty and brightness of life –
Sing to me, sing to me!
Sing to me! Something that’s jubilant, glad!
I am so weary, my soul so sad.
All my earth riches are covered with rust,
All my bright dreams are but ashes and dust.
Sing to me, sing to me!
Sing og the blossoms that open in spring,
How the sweet flowers blow, and the long lichens cling,
Say, though the winter is round about me,
There are bright summers and springs yet to be.
Sing to me, sing to me!
Sing me a song full of hope and of truth,
Brimming with all the sweet fancies of youth!
Say, though my sorrow I may not forget,
I have not quite done with happiness yet.
Sing to me, sing to me!
Lay your soft fingers just here, on my cheek;
Turn the light lower – there- no, do not speak,
But sing! My heart thrills at your beautiful voice;
Sing till I turn from my grief and rejoice.
Sing to me, sing to me!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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