When The Green Gits Back In The Trees
In spring, when the green gits back in the trees,
And the sun comes out and stays,
And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze,
And you think of yer barefoot days;
When you ort to work and you want to not,
And you and yer wife agrees
It's time to spade up the garden lot,
When the green gits back in the trees--
Well! work is the least o' _my_ idees
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!
When the green gits back in the trees, and bees
Is a-buzzin' aroun' agin,
In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please
Old gait they bum roun' in;
When the groun's all bald where the hay-rick stood,
And the crick 's riz, and the breeze
Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood,
And the green gits back in the trees,--
I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these,
The time when the green gits back in the trees!
When the whole tail-feathers o' wintertime
Is all pulled out and gone!
And the sap it thaws and begins to climb,
And the sweat it starts out on
A feller's forred, a-gittin' down
At the old spring on his knees--
I kind o' like jes' a-loaferin' roun'
When the green gits back in the trees--
Jes' a-potterin' roun' as I--durn--please--
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Related quotes
Not For Climbing
go back to green
climb trees and recover from scrapped knees
that was Your spring
imagining
flying high through the sky
swinging, discovering
that was Your spring
go back to green
memories of doll parts
doll eyes, open wide
hold tight, memories
that was Your spring
wondering, what will the future bring
caterpillars or sting-bees
laughter or lame trees
not for climbing
poem by Sarah Cotnam
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Looking Back At The Greens
i too look back at those green things
from the point of view of my
green thumb
a vegetable garden without an aphid on a leaf
a row of roses, lush green leaves
and red blooms
some petals falling due to the
wind
a line of green mint trees along the path
leading to the highway
sounds of motors threatening what green there is
i come back and settle on this patch
of green meadows
and grass and gray shade
my own shadow cast
on the huge gabi leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Plant More Trees
Plant more trees
As it looks green
And save the homes of the animals please.
Plant more trees
As it looks green
To keep the humans safe
From pollution and disease.
Plant more trees
As it looks green
To keep the cities beautiful and clean.
And throw the garbage into a dustbin.
Stop cutting trees
And plant more trees
For a long live of you and me!
poem by Srijita Das
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Wadin' In De Crick
DAYS git wa'm and wa'mah,
School gits mighty dull,
Seems lak dese hyeah teachahs
Mus' feel mussiful.
Hookey's wrong, I know it
Ain't no gent'man's trick;
But de aih's a-callin',
'Come on to de crick.'
Dah de watah's gu'glin'
Ovah shiny stones,
Des hit's ve'y singin'
Seems to soothe yo' bones.
W'at's de use o' waitin',
Go on good an' quick:
Dain't no fun lak dis hyeah
Wadin' in de crick.
W'at dat jay-b'ud sayin'?
Bettah shet yo' haid,
Fus' t'ing dat you fin' out,
You'll be layin' daid.
Jay-bu'ds sich a tattlah,
Des seem lak his trick
Fu' to tell on folkses
Wadin' in de crick.
Willer boughs a-bendin',
Hidin' of de sky,
Wavin' kin' o' frien'ly
Ez de win' go by,
Elum trees a-shinin',
Dahk an' green an' thick,
Seem to say, 'I see yo'
Wadin' in de crick.'
But de trees don' chattah,
Dey des look an' sigh
Lak hit's kin' o' peaceful
Des a-bein' nigh,
An' yo' t'ank yo' Mastah
Dat dey trunks is thick
W'en yo' mammy fin's you
Wadin' in de crick.
Den yo' run behin' dem
Lak yo' scaihed to def,
Mammy come a-flyin',
Mos' nigh out o' bref;
But she set down gentle
An' she drap huh stick, —
An, fus' t'ing, dey's mammy
Wadin' in de crick.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Medea and I were in love
I woke up and the world
was just the same
The trees are green
but the trees were always green
I had slept for a length of time
and the sky remained
and the stars
but they were always there
In mind I had an idea
A super crime
I dreamt about Medea
I dreamt about the time
Medea and I were in love
If I were able to alter time
If I woke up the world
would it be the same
With the trees green
but the trees were always green
linz©2003
Silent train journey through my mind
Of all places to go
Secretive passenger what is it that you hide
That at a crossing matters so
Like a whistle in the distance
An attraction to a child
I hear the excitement in the voices
But there is a man waving a red flag at the mouth of the tunnel
Silent train I will not let you into the darkness
I will not let go
Go back out again to the world
where this line stops and the rest of the world begins
poem by Lindsay Crosby
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Green, green and green
I want a holiday with a scene
Of green, green and green
A summer of green trees
A landscape of green grass
A view full of green vegetables
The colour green
Is a beauty that must be seen!
From a moving vehicles screen
And while we hold onto those machines
That deprives us of the colour green
Remember they provide us vaccines
As well as help the air to be clean
So for green, green and green
I will travel continents across and in-between
And also to any place that I have never been
I will make it routine
Just to see green, green and green
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Thinkin' Back
I've ben thinkin' back, of late,
S'prisin'!--And I'm here to state
I'm suspicious it's a sign
Of _age_, maybe, or decline
Of my faculties,--and yit
I'm not _feelin'_ old a bit--
Any more than sixty-four
Ain't no _young_ man any more!
Thinkin' back's a thing 'at grows
On a feller, I suppose--
Older 'at he gits, i jack,
More he keeps a-thinkin' back!
Old as old men git to be,
Er as middle-aged as me,
Folks'll find us, eye and mind
Fixed on what we've left behind--
Rehabilitatin'-like
Them old times we used to hike
Out barefooted fer the crick,
'Long 'bout _Aprile first_--to pick
Out some 'warmest' place to go
In a-swimmin'--_Ooh! my-oh!_
Wonder now we hadn't died!
Grate horseradish on my hide
Jes' _a-thinkin'_ how cold then
That-'ere worter must 'a' ben!
Thinkin' back--W'y, goodness me!
I kin call their names and see
Every little tad I played
With, er fought, er was afraid
Of, and so made _him_ the best
Friend I had of all the rest!
Thinkin' back, I even hear
Them a-callin', high and clear,
Up the crick-banks, where they seem
Still hid in there--like a dream--
And me still a-pantin' on
The green pathway they have gone!
Still they hide, by bend er ford--
Still they hide--but, thank the Lord,
(Thinkin' back, as I have said),
I hear laughin' on ahead!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Bloke Wot Gits The Girls
'E passes by, each day, at ten
A bottle-shouldered yid
Wot looks as if 'e pushed a pen
An' drawes a weekly quid;
'E's always with some little lass;
(By cripes, 'e gets some pearls!)
We calls 'im, watchin' of 'em pass,
The bloke wot gits the girls.
An' strewth! it beats me outer sight
'Ow girls can stand 'im - straight!
'E don't go five-feet-two in height
Or eight-stun-two in weight;
'E couldn't swing a pick, - or scrap,
Soft 'ands an' sheeny curls!
'E's just a sorter - well, mishap,
The Bloke wot gits the girls.
But yet each day some bit o' fluff
Trips by, with this 'ere fraud,
A-breathin'-in 'is silly guff
As if 'e wos a gawd.
'E shoots 'is cuffs, 'e swings 'is canes,
'Is spiky mo 'e twirls,
'E seems to mesmerise the Janes,
The bloke wot gits the girls!
Well, tarts is tarts - it's 'ow they're built:
I s'pose their gawd is clo'es;
But 'im - the puffed-up piece o' gilt,
I'd like to punch 'is nose!
A-struttin', starin' round about
As if 'is kind was earls!
Cripes! 'Ow I'd like to pass 'im out
The bloke wot gits the girls!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Trees and Plants
Plants and trees
So green so green
The kitchen is the leaf
And the root is the chief
They give us flowers to decorate
And also to celebrate
They give us paper from their wood
And they are found in the woods
With their help we can make whatever we want
From a rubberband to a pant
We don't need to pay tax or fees
To borrow from our lovely trees
They protect us from diseases
That would make us ill
All the carbondioxide
They always take in
Some people cut trees
For things like table and chair
Not knowing what pollution
They are doing to the air
Forests are turning from green to brown
Animals' faces are always with a frown
So let's make this place from brown to green
By planting more saplings and trees
poem by Deepika Ganesh
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A Natural Green
Who coloured the green trees?
Who coloured the green grass?
Who coloured the green hills?
How about my green spider plant? ?
Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.
Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life....
A ride on a helicopter over the huge Rain Forest and see nothing, but acres & acres of simply gorgeous green!
Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.
Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life...
GREEN, I admire and respect the vitality you bring in the air that I breathe...
poem by Premila Patel
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Monroe Louisiana
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
So green, green
Wet-luscious green and alive
So green after the rain
So bright green and clean
Just passing through
On my way to tomorrow
But so green today and yesterday
It was on that stranger's green, green farm
And I didn't stay long
And I didn't expect someone
To fire that shotgun right next to me
The barrel pointed out the front door
Into that green, green world beyond.
There were hot springs
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
Back in 1973.
poem by M.L. Squier
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Green, Green, and More Green
There is green everywhere,
even in peoples' hair.Some
on hands, some on shirts.
There is green everywhere!
Green, green, and more green.
I think I'm going crazy over green.
If you don't wear green you get pinched,
then you'll start to itch.
So many people are obsessed with green.
Green Spring, green air.Green feet, green wheat, green meat.
Green isn't very neat!
poem by Autumn Howard
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The Poem of Spring
When the trees flower pink and white
filigree, and the sleeping
god comes back to life
here, where our mountains preside
so drably much of the year
now, when the walls of our valleys
are so green, green, green on all sides,
and our eyes see easy
before Nature gets carried away
and squeezes out too much Fire
and it all burns dead again,
you want to pin it
down with your pen
so it will never slip away,
this elixir,
this secret,
for there's nothing
I could ever seek
beyond this Spring
spreading inside me,
flooding my veins forever.
Tuesday In Amsterdam (Adam Solo)
A picture of Amsterdam
Bare trees under glass
Framed in the grey and white afternoon light
Of a winter long passed
When I was a riser
To Dublin I'd roam
She was a bareback rider
Some miles from home
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Shes a carnival diver
Hung in the sky
Cutting through time like a memory
Strung on a wire
Now the color of anything
Fades in the air
She is the film of a book
Of the story of the smell of her hair
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
When everythings over
And everythings clear
When everyones older
And no one is here
I try to remember
A girl on a wire
Tumbling and diving above Stevens Green
Like a kite in the air
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Oh come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me yeah
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
song performed by by Counting Crows
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Greens Of These Trees These Leaves
THE GREENS OF THESE TREES THESE LEAVES
The greens of these trees these leaves
The many shades of green-
Olive green and deep dark green and yellow green
And greens I see but have no name for-
So many shades of light and beauty in green
And I with my eyes loving them all
And delighted and made happy by them all-
Wondering why and how God's world
Has so so much Beauty
Just in green alone -
And being deep in happiness
At being alive
And loving them more
In regretting why and how
I will not one day soon
be able to see them again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Green Dot
A green dot was wandering one day,
Where is its spot, where it can lay! ,
It delayed its arrival,
And all the green is now gone,
The green dot is wandering searching,
Goofing the streets under rain and thunder,
It moves fast and slow, gradual run,
From the shore, to the bays,
When it was deceived by the beauty of trees,
What beauty can it see, but she wasn’t comfee,
Because it wasn’t that green,
What green it could be?
What green does it belong?
It don’t know, but the search seemed to be long,
Oh! Lil green dot, lil green dot,
What is this mess all about?
The lil green dot missed its way,
And now it dun no where to stay,
Where are the other green, where is its stain?
Forever the search, Forever it will feel the pain,
To be away from the other green dots.
poem by Mustafa Ghuneim
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Naturally Green
My mother always enjoyed
Picnics on lushes green grass
With trees to show
How green Mother Nature keeps
Her house of plants
Without green
There may be no greed
But it is that of the apple
That keeps us whole
Without care,
Green turns to brown.
With love,
Green grows strong.
When green turns to yellow
We go slow
So never let green
Turn red with envy
Or life may go
In a direction
You did not choose
poem by Scot Warren
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The Little Old Log Cabin
When a man gits on his uppers in a hard-pan sort of town,
An' he ain't got nothin' comin' an' he can't afford ter eat,
An' he's in a fix for lodgin' an' he wanders up an' down,
An' you'd fancy he'd been boozin', he's so locoed 'bout the feet;
When he's feelin' sneakin' sorry an' his belt is hangin' slack,
An' his face is peaked an' gray-like an' his heart gits down an' whines,
Then he's apt ter git a-thinkin' an' a-wishin' he was back
In the little ol' log cabin in the shadder of the pines.
When he's on the blazin' desert an' his canteen's sprung a leak,
An' he's all alone an' crazy an' he's crawlin' like a snail,
An' his tongue's so black an' swollen that it hurts him fer to speak,
An' he gouges down fer water an' the raven's on his trail;
When he's done with care and cursin' an' he feels more like to cry,
An' he sees ol' Death a-grinnin' an' he thinks upon his crimes,
Then he's like ter hev' a vision, as he settles down ter die,
Of the little ol' log cabin an' the roses an' the vines.
Oh, the little ol' log cabin, it's a solemn shinin' mark,
When a feller gits ter sinnin' an' a-goin' ter the wall,
An' folks don't understand him an' he's gropin' in the dark,
An' he's sick of bein' cursed at an' he's longin' fer his call!
When the sun of life's a-sinkin' you can see it 'way above,
On the hill from out the shadder in a glory 'gin the sky,
An' your mother's voice is callin', an' her arms are stretched in love,
An' somehow you're glad you're goin', an' you ain't a-scared to die;
When you'll be like a kid again an' nestle to her breast,
An' never leave its shelter, an' forget, an' love, an' rest.
poem by Robert William Service
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From A Train
Green and green; and evergreen
in my all, and scurrying
in flickered films
of glimpses, painted green...
and a car in the lane silently shimmers,
as I hear the morning swaying past trees that,
green over green,
silently guard the wet summer sadness,
where cattle stare at the hopping rooks
and do not know
of the things that have been...
or care.
Cloudly and bright:
passing the green.
Where, in my remembrance of once long ago,
I felt the mist
rising unseen from the grass
that was green between green
when we kissed.
So I hum a small phrase
that carries my thoughts
ever and onwards,
listlessly flowing
like the world that is passing
the window beside me
all behind all, so totally green
and all in my knowing
and all in my all
and all in my green.
poem by Peter Jones
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In The Shade Of The Green Wood
In the shade of the green wood
The holly does grow,
While in soft rays of sunlight
The wild roses glow,
And I smell their sweet perfume
That gently floats by,
Past trees strong and mighty
That reach to the sky,
The pathway of gold autumn
Leaves still remain,
As I walk through the green wood again.
In the shade of the green wood
This bright sunny morn,
That's so cool in the shadows
A new day is born,
All the birds in the treetops
Are singing for me,
Sweet songs of the summer
Which fill me with glee,
And know from its beauty
I never shall part,
For the green wood does live in my heart.
In the shade of the green wood
A soft gentle breeze,
Now caresses the branches
And whispers through trees,
A sound reassuring
Shall carry me to,
All the scenes that exist
In each marvellous view,
It's here that my spirit
Shall always now stay,
And the green wood is guiding my way.
poem by Andrew Blakemore
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