The Fifties
I can remember when children behaved like children.
especially when school closed for the summer recess.
After breakfast we met up for another adventure,
with a bottle of water and sandwiches of jam, or cress.
We would set off for the not too far badlands,
where the taboo river was shallow enough to cross.
With our bows and arrows crafted from willow,
and our quivers made from old school socks.
In a clearing surrounded by trees we'd make camp
and build a fire protected by stones.
We'd sit down cross legged and tell stories of interest,
and crack jokes as old, as old bones.
After a laugh and an exchange of sandwiches,
we'd build a den from branches with leaves.
We'd go swimming in the shallows of the river
until the pangs of hunger forced us to leave.
This was a typical summer's day of adventure,
a day when friends in the morning met.
A day of many that was well worth remembering,
and in adulthood how could we forget.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My May 2006
May is dead,
And a trouble has made leave.
No more school days do I have to dread,
But rather summer plans to achieve.
Finals have settled in the past,
And thank god for that.
Hopefully the summer will long last,
And give me time with my friends to chat.
Don’t forget the drama of “Brevard Running Camp”,
Or the fights fought over track.
It seemed like it was a well lit lamp,
Whose bulb would just not crack.
But o well for training in the summer,
Honestly who cares?
To train in order to go to UMC camp is surely a bummer,
And I have no choice because the fights have their wares.
We shall see what this summer has to bring,
Especially now with Mallory in town.
Hopefully this summer shall sing,
A song of laughter and joy without frown.
poem by Benjamin A. Wellman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer Vacation
It's sumertime,
School vacation has begun,
Time for children to play,
And have fun in the sun.
Now the children
Are out of school,
There are trees to climb,
Swimming in the pool.
Time to spend
With special friends.
Seems they're on the go
Until the days end.
But when summer vacation
Is finally through,
It's time to hit the books
And return to school.
poem by Christine L.Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Teach The Gifted Children
Teach the gifted children
Teach them to have mercy
Teach them about sunsets
Teach them about moonrise
Teach them about anger
The sin that comes with dawning
Teach them about flowers
And the beauty of forgetfulness
Then take me to the river (take me to the river)
And put me in the water (and put me in the water)
Bless them and forgive them (take me to the river)
Father cause they just dont know (take me to the river)
All the gifted children
Teach the gifted children
The way of men and animals
Teach them about cities
The history of the mysteries
Their vice and their virtues
About branches that blow in the wind
On the wages of their sins
Teach them of forgiveness
Teach them about mercy
Teach them about music
And the cool and cleansing waters
What do they say, take me to the river (take me to the river)
Take me to the river (take me to the river)
Put me in the water (take me to the river)
And teach the gifted children (take me to the river)
All the gifted children (take me to the river)
(take me to the river)
(take me to the river)
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let's Make Sandwiches
Lately, I've been hungry,
Starving to have my fill,
So let's make sandwiches.
All upset and angry,
Empty stomachs seem ill,
So let's make sandwiches.
If our tastes would agree,
I'd be ready to grill,
So let's make sandwiches.
We could enjoy our food,
The flavors we've pursued,
So let's make sandwiches.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rivers Edge
The swimming hole is deserted
Except for an occasional
Brief stop for indigenous birds
on their way to the other shore.
The Tarzan rope hangs from the tree
Swaying slightly in the mild breeze
Above the dark shallow river
Where not long ago children played
And their laughter resonated
Loudest after each took their turn
Swinging out over the water
Ending with a cannonball splash;
But now these sweet, wet river brats-
God love them, all gone back to school.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love in the Summer
Can remember fondly the days of summer
How we all scurried to the green pastures
Permission was granted by our elders
To make the most of our time together
The streets have changed so much now
Gone are the tree lined adorned pavements
And all the folks who sat on their garden walls
gossiping about nothing in particular
Remember well swimming in July
By the beach, by the pool, by your side
Fresh water, cool summer breeze
Mindful of the coming Autumn Leaves
Reminiscing about earlier days
They seem the same, they seem different
Life was for each every other
As our bond grew much stronger
We lived for new adventure
Everyday something to create
Experiences to be marveled at
Can remember fondly love in the summer
poem by Kevin John
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School Is Out
School is out
No more getting up early
Just having fun
No more annoy teachers and homework
Summer is here
School is out
Come on and scream with me
I just want to chill out and relax
After long year of school and hardwork
Summer is here
School is out
I can do what ever I want
Staying up late, having party/sleepover
I can be crazy and loud if I want and noone can stop me
Summer is here
School is out
No more lectures from teachers
No more rules or detetion
Hanging with my friends
Going to beach and having all fun I can
Summer is here
School is out
Wohooo, yea
All I want to do is scream and dance
No more never end work and annoy people
It's all about fun in the sun
Summer is here
School is out
No more getting up early
Just having fun
No more annoy teachers and homework
Summer is here
School is out
poem by Christina Phan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dry River
River of Doom
Sad sight dry river, and twenty years ago it was
three metre deep and had trout. We caught some
with nets and, fried them on a small fire and felt
like cavemen. Delicious fish meat we ate with our
fingers. Every year I have seen the river getting
smaller even in the winter when it rains irregularly,
it is no more than a beck. There is no fish not even
the skeleton of children caught by a wall of water,
when it had been raining upland and into the river.
Their father was arrested it was said he had killed
the children, fed them to the pigs, but for a single
button in the sty they sat him free. Terrible rumors
every summer I see him walking along the dry river,
muttering to himself trying to find his children
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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River Death
River was
Running...
With water...
Water are
Nice too
Play with sands...
Trees...
Mountain rocks...
Swmming fishes...
Some time jump
With dive and swime...
Sun was see
Face at river water
Mirror...?
moon was
Click the eye
About
The river....
Animals are swimming
Birds also drinking...
People also
Swmming too
Wash the cloths...
River was
Every day run
Simply not sad...
At rainey time...
At winter time...
Summer time
River not run
Stop to stop
Death the river...
Sky cry...
With rain
Run the river...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Bonkers For Conkers!
A tiny chestnut tree grew tall
To span the decades well
And in the Autumn or the Fall,
Its spiky conkers fell...
The green leaves lost their chlorophyll,
Became like gold leaf's glow
And children gathered with the thrill,
Grabbed conkers then would go...
A piece of string, a three inch nail
And soon it's testing time,
For some succeed while others fail,
No reason and no rhyme...
Some are champions, born to win,
Despite a crack or two,
As if so brave they won't give in,
They're forced to see things through...
The chestnut tree stayed where it was,
Of fights it wasn't told,
But if it knew, it would be cross,
Because that's kind of cold...
Its children smashed to smithereens,
Defenceless every one,
By human children, even teens,
As if such games were fun...
Tremendous trees deserve much more,
Their grandeur warms the heart...
Alas, Man has no Conkers Law,
So no-one makes a start...
Thus conkers end up fighting fights,
While children laugh with glee,
For all of these lack wise insights,
Hence inhumanity...
Now you may giggle, laugh and snort!
Why should you care at all?
I bet you never gave a thought,
Why should you? You've left school...
Should conker contests carry on?
Or should we get them banned?
If all the chestnut trees were gone,
Perhaps you'd understand...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Will Get There
Ohohah
Hey
Yeah
I've been wanderin' 'round in the dark
Been lost somewhere where no light could shine on my heart
I have known a pain so deep
But I know my faith will free me
[Get there] And I'll get through this
[Get there] I'll find my way again
So don't tell me that it's over
'Cause each step just gets me closer
[chorus]
(I will get there) I will get there
(I will get there) I will get there somehow
Cross that river (Cross that river)
Nothing's stoppin' me now
I will get through the night (Oh, yes, I will)
And make it through to the other side
(Get there) Get there
(Get there) Get there
I've been in these chains for so long
I'll break free and I'll be there where I belong
Hold my head up high, I'll stand tall
And I swear this time I won't fall
[Get there] I will do this
[Get there] No matter what it takes
'Cause I know no limitations
And I'll reach my destination, I will get there
[chorus]
I will get there (I will get there)
I will get there (Ooh) somehow (Somehow)
Cross that river (Cross that river)
Nothing's stoppin' me now
I will get through the night
And make it through to the other side
(Ooh, get there) Get there
(Get there) Get there
Well, the night is cold and dark
But somewhere the sun is shining
And I'll feel it shine on me
I'll keep on tryin', I'll keep on tryin'
I will get there (I will get there)
I will get there somehow
Cross that river (Cross that river)
Nothing's stoppin' me now
I will get through the night
And make it through to the other side
Get there, get there
I will get there (I will get there)
I will get there somehow (Somehow)
Cross that river (I'll cross that river for you)
Nothing's stoppin' me now (OhwhoaI)
I will get through (Through) the night
And make it through to the other side (Ohhoohho)
(Get there) Get there
(Ooh, get there) Get there (Whoaoh)
I will get there (I will get there)
I will get there somehow (Somehow)
Cross that river (I'll cross it for your love)
Nothing's stoppin' me now (No matter what)
I will get through the night (I will get through the night)
And make it through to the other side
(Get there) Get there
(Ooh, get there) Get there
Get there
Ohhooh
I'll get there
song performed by by Boyz II Men
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Willow Poem
It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen nor
bitten by the sun
turned orange or crimson.
The leaves cling and grow paler,
swing and grow paler
over the swirling waters of the river
as if loth to let go,
they are so cool, so drunk with
the swirl of the wind and of the river --
oblivious to winter,
the last to let go and fall
into the water and on the ground.
poem by William Carlos Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Song Of Hiawatha VII: Hiawatha's Sailing
'Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree!
Growing by the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley!
I a light canoe will build me,
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,
That shall float on the river,
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily!
'Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree!
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,
For the Summer-time is coming,
And the sun is warm in heaven,
And you need no white-skin wrapper!'
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
In the solitary forest,
By the rushing Taquamenaw,
When the birds were singing gayly,
In the Moon of Leaves were singing,
And the sun, from sleep awaking,
Started up and said, 'Behold me!
Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me!'
And the tree with all its branches
Rustled in the breeze of morning,
Saying, with a sigh of patience,
'Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!'
With his knife the tree he girdled;
Just beneath its lowest branches,
Just above the roots, he cut it,
Till the sap came oozing outward;
Down the trunk, from top to bottom,
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder,
With a wooden wedge he raised it,
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.
'Give me of your boughs, O Cedar!
Of your strong and pliant branches,
My canoe to make more steady,
Make more strong and firm beneath me!'
Through the summit of the Cedar
Went a sound, a cry of horror,
Went a murmur of resistance;
But it whispered, bending downward,
'Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!'
Down he hewed the boughs of cedar,
Shaped them straightway to a frame-work,
Like two bows he formed and shaped them,
Like two bended bows together.
'Give me of your roots, O Tamarack!
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree!
My canoe to bind together,
So to bind the ends together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!'
And the Larch, with all its fibres,
Shivered in the air of morning,
Touched his forehead with its tassels,
Slid, with one long sigh of sorrow.
'Take them all, O Hiawatha!'
From the earth he tore the fibres,
Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree,
Closely sewed the hark together,
Bound it closely to the frame-work.
'Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree!
Of your balsam and your resin,
So to close the seams together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!'
And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre,
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,
Rattled like a shore with pebbles,
Answered wailing, answered weeping,
'Take my balm, O Hiawatha!'
And he took the tears of balsam,
Took the resin of the Fir-tree,
Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,
Made each crevice safe from water.
'Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog!
All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog!
I will make a necklace of them,
Make a girdle for my beauty,
And two stars to deck her bosom!'
From a hollow tree the Hedgehog
With his sleepy eyes looked at him,
Shot his shining quills, like arrows,
Saying with a drowsy murmur,
Through the tangle of his whiskers,
'Take my quills, O Hiawatha!'
From the ground the quills he gathered,
All the little shining arrows,
Stained them red and blue and yellow,
With the juice of roots and berries;
Into his canoe he wrought them,
Round its waist a shining girdle,
Round its bows a gleaming necklace,
On its breast two stars resplendent.
Thus the Birch Canoe was builded
In the valley, by the river,
In the bosom of the forest;
And the forest's life was in it,
All its mystery and its magic,
All the lightness of the birch-tree,
All the toughness of the cedar,
All the larch's supple sinews;
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily.
Paddles none had Hiawatha,
Paddles none he had or needed,
For his thoughts as paddles served him,
And his wishes served to guide him;
Swift or slow at will he glided,
Veered to right or left at pleasure.
Then he called aloud to Kwasind,
To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
Saying, 'Help me clear this river
Of its sunken logs and sand-bars.'
Straight into the river Kwasind
Plunged as if he were an otter,
Dived as if he were a beaver,
Stood up to his waist in water,
To his arm-pits in the river,
Swam and scouted in the river,
Tugged at sunken logs and branches,
With his hands he scooped the sand-bars,
With his feet the ooze and tangle.
And thus sailed my Hiawatha
Down the rushing Taquamenaw,
Sailed through all its bends and windings,
Sailed through all its deeps and shallows,
While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
Swam the deeps, the shallows waded.
Up and down the river went they,
In and out among its islands,
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar,
Dragged the dead trees from its channel,
Made its passage safe and certain,
Made a pathway for the people,
From its springs among the mountains,
To the waters of Pauwating,
To the bay of Taquamenaw.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Children In America!
one out of three
children in America,
living in poverty?
what happened
to the land of promise?
children hungry,
children homeless,
children that wont
get a good education!
children, broken families,
children without future.
children without love....
turn to hate!
build your cities,
build your banks,
build your kingdoms
drunk on oil and blood!
your children, dying....
who digs their graves?
who closes their eyes?
who prays for their souls?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hiawatha's Sailing
"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree!
Growing by the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley!
I a light canoe will build me,
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,
That shall float on the river,
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily!
"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree!
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,
For the Summer-time is coming,
And the sun is warm in heaven,
And you need no white-skin wrapper!"
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
In the solitary forest,
By the rushing Taquamenaw,
When the birds were singing gayly,
In the Moon of Leaves were singing,
And the sun, from sleep awaking,
Started up and said, "Behold me!
Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me!"
And the tree with all its branches
Rustled in the breeze of morning,
Saying, with a sigh of patience,
"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!"
With his knife the tree he girdled;
Just beneath its lowest branches,
Just above the roots, he cut it,
Till the sap came oozing outward;
Down the trunk, from top to bottom,
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder,
With a wooden wedge he raised it,
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.
"Give me of your boughs, O Cedar!
Of your strong and pliant branches,
My canoe to make more steady,
Make more strong and firm beneath me!"
Through the summit of the Cedar
Went a sound, a cry of horror,
Went a murmur of resistance;
But it whispered, bending downward,
'Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!"
Down he hewed the boughs of cedar,
Shaped them straightway to a frame-work,
Like two bows he formed and shaped them,
Like two bended bows together.
"Give me of your roots, O Tamarack!
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree!
My canoe to bind together,
So to bind the ends together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"
And the Larch, with all its fibres,
Shivered in the air of morning,
Touched his forehead with its tassels,
Slid, with one long sigh of sorrow.
"Take them all, O Hiawatha!"
From the earth he tore the fibres,
Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree,
Closely sewed the hark together,
Bound it closely to the frame-work.
"Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree!
Of your balsam and your resin,
So to close the seams together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"
And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre,
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,
Rattled like a shore with pebbles,
Answered wailing, answered weeping,
"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"
And he took the tears of balsam,
Took the resin of the Fir-tree,
Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,
Made each crevice safe from water.
"Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog!
All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog!
I will make a necklace of them,
Make a girdle for my beauty,
And two stars to deck her bosom!"
From a hollow tree the Hedgehog
With his sleepy eyes looked at him,
Shot his shining quills, like arrows,
Saying with a drowsy murmur,
Through the tangle of his whiskers,
"Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"
From the ground the quills he gathered,
All the little shining arrows,
Stained them red and blue and yellow,
With the juice of roots and berries;
Into his canoe he wrought them,
Round its waist a shining girdle,
Round its bows a gleaming necklace,
On its breast two stars resplendent.
Thus the Birch Canoe was builded
In the valley, by the river,
In the bosom of the forest;
And the forest's life was in it,
All its mystery and its magic,
All the lightness of the birch-tree,
All the toughness of the cedar,
All the larch's supple sinews;
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily.
Paddles none had Hiawatha,
Paddles none he had or needed,
For his thoughts as paddles served him,
And his wishes served to guide him;
Swift or slow at will he glided,
Veered to right or left at pleasure.
Then he called aloud to Kwasind,
To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
Saying, "Help me clear this river
Of its sunken logs and sand-bars."
Straight into the river Kwasind
Plunged as if he were an otter,
Dived as if he were a beaver,
Stood up to his waist in water,
To his arm-pits in the river,
Swam and scouted in the river,
Tugged at sunken logs and branches,
With his hands he scooped the sand-bars,
With his feet the ooze and tangle.
And thus sailed my Hiawatha
Down the rushing Taquamenaw,
Sailed through all its bends and windings,
Sailed through all its deeps and shallows,
While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
Swam the deeps, the shallows waded.
Up and down the river went they,
In and out among its islands,
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar,
Dragged the dead trees from its channel,
Made its passage safe and certain,
Made a pathway for the people,
From its springs among the mountains,
To the waters of Pauwating,
To the bay of Taquamenaw.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am blessed because...
I am blessed because I wake up every morning with breakfast ready on my table,
when there are people waking up to hunger.
I am blessed because I wake up with clothes to wear,
when there are people shivering in the cold.
I am blessed because I wake up knowing that I don't have to walk to school,
when there are people who don't have a school to go to.
I am blessed because I get to eat even if it's not time for breakfast, lunch or dinner,
while some people wonder when the next meal will come.
I am blessed because I am living such a comfortable life, playing sports, joking around with friends, using the internet and sleeping whenever I want,
when some people are using their last bit of strength to make sure they survive hunger, illness and pain.
I am blessed because I have friends to talk to when I'm in pain, to laugh with when I'm in joy and to be my aid when I'm in need,
when there are people who feel sad, sorrow and pain without anyone
to lean on.
I am blessed because I have a caring Mum, an awesome Dad and a loving little sister, while there are people who will never know who their parents are.
I am blessed because I know I am loved by God.
The people in pain, the people in hunger, the people in sorrow,
the people who lost everything, the people who kill, the people who
steal, the people who hate, the people who persecute, the people who is the worst of all humans, are loved by God too. They just need to know it.
I am blessed, are you?
If you think you're not, remember this, God loves you, no matter who you are.
You just need to know it. =
Sonnet: Grow Trees
The branches cut the wind fierce to a breeze;
The leaves break sunlight into chequered beams;
The shade of trees affords all travelers peace;
The wearied ones sleep ’neath the trees in dreams!
And birds too build their nests on branches high;
The squirrels eat their berries with great joy;
The trees make verdant all landscape near-by;
And attract rain in which children enjoy!
Trees make the earth greener and beautiful,
Adding oxygen to the air we breathe;
Preserve its trees, man! Nature is grateful;
The leaves and flowers can make us a wreath.
Trees are so useful to mankind always;
’midst good trees, men have spent their earthly days!
7-14-2002
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Frank O'Neill
I remember when we were young
Barely taller than our heavy school bags
We used to feel the weight of our lessons
Piling one by one on each of our shoulders
School was tough for us, but there were little things
Such little things that made school fun and exciting
I remember when we were young
We used to wait for the last day of school
Before we would all leave for our Christmas holidays
But it wasn't just to get away from school, no
Because on the last day, we were all treated a show
A show about a genie, which would make us laugh till we cried
Oh how we would talk about this genie
All throughout the year, waiting for this special day
All throughout the ride home, sharing the laughter with friends
I remember when we were young
It was hard to meet up after school with friends
After all, we were just seven-year-olds
But this was made easy for us
Because every season we would have a camp planned for us
Oh I do remember the laughter we've all shared at these camps
The pranks that he would play on us
Waking up in the middle of the night
Marking our faces with ink
Oh the laughter we would all have
To the surprise of seeing all the pictures of our friends
Who were pranked with ink all over their faces
Or the day all our shoes were taken from our rooms
And hidden in a place we just could never find
I remember when we were young
We used to have art lessons - But not any average art lesson
They were lessons where we could be creative
And not just on pencil and paper
But we were taught how to bring any plain object to class
And turn it into wonderful art
In which we would always display our work in the hall
I remember when we were young
Such little things that made school fun and exciting
Its moments like these you keep remembering for the rest of your life
The friendships made - The Laughter shared
Memories forever imprinted in the back of your head
Frank O'Neill was and remains a Great teacher - And a Great man
He has taught for 35 years at our beloved school and served them well
Teachers like him are hard to find, and are what make a school unforgettable
So I would like to take an opportunity to thank Frank O'Neil
But I am not alone, as so would the rest of the school, ex-students and ex-teachers
In which we would like to thank him for making our experience at Stella Maris College
May you enjoy your retirement - A well deserved relaxation for your hard work!
poem by Gabriel Gauci Maistre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No More Middle School
The day is almost here
The day that we graduate from
Middle school and go
off to highschool
they say that it will be a wonderful
experience for you
but it will be hard
hard is not the word for it
Suddenly we get more
responsibilites and people act like
over the summer we became adults
The day is almost here
that we leave the memories behind
all of the laughs and crys
all we have to remind
us are all thoses silly
pictures we took
and pictures in our heads
i will never forget the friends that i will
leave behind because no
matter what happens we
are still best friends
even if we dont see eachother for a year or two
but the friends that come with me
will stand by me through this and we will make it
it may be hard but with the
help of my friends ill make it though high school
poem by Colleen Martin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At School
The bees are in the meadow
And the swallows in the sky;
The cattle in the shadow
Watch the river running by.
The wheat is hardly stirring;
The heavy ox-team lags;
The dragon-fly is whirring
Through the yellow-blossomed flag.
And down beside the river,
Where the trees lean o'er the pool,
Where the shadows reach the quiver
A boy has come to school.
His teachers are the swallow
And the river and the trees;
His lessons are the shallows
And the flowers and the bees.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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