Two birch trees.
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Hm. Nes Poems
The Tale of William Tell
The arrow flew, but none could tell If apple pierced or humble son, Until one or the other fell- Determined contest lost or won.
I hail from Butte, Montana; Although Bob, Louisiana Is the place I go when winter catches cold. As Faribault, Minnesota,
Sir Edmund Hillary first achieved (For centuries unattained) The summit of earth's highest peak, And what did he there gain?
Alternating legends Twixt the forest and the sea- 'The monster, ' some say, 'keeps to the water! ' While others claim, 'The trees! '
Orange, Gorringe, Blorenge, Wales!
Orange, Gorringe, Orange, Blorenge, Orange, Gorringe, Blorenge, Wales! Poets care not much for orange, as so little rhymes with orange,
For Edgar Allan
No not alone I dare suggest, Though all alone you felt; the rest Forsaking you upon the stage Midst blinding light and audience rage.
Cats and Scars, the Moon and Stars
My cat leaves home Most nights to roam, Compelled by the moon and stars. For go he must,
Who Wants To Be Burned?
My father warned me. Mother warned me. My neighbor, Gilbert Jeffrey Swain, often warned me. (Gilbert is fourteen and knows these things.)
So Many Saves
We celebrate the whippoorwill we saved in the garden from the cat.
I feared her scent That it was more than I could bear In this present condition In this tenuous state of mind
Dancing Into the Rain
A chill breeze Wafting through the window Rouses me from sleep. Late again!
Once More I Rise
Once more I rise My eyes, my lungs filled with the dust Of the arena floor
Board Game Banter
Shoulda seen that comin'. Shoulda thought that through. Coulda gained a point. Coulda beaten you
The red bird oft reminds me of The Father's always love Especially on days when joy does fade With echoes of the past and pressures
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The Tale of William Tell
The arrow flew, but none could tell
If apple pierced or humble son,
Until one or the other fell-
Determined contest lost or won.
The dart flew like a bat from hell
Toward Walter, son of William Tell.
Sir William Tell refused to bow
Before the lords who ruled the land.
And hated they his stubborn prow,
But feared the crossbow in his hand.
'He must be forced to bend somehow! '
So swore they all with solemn vow.
And then: 'A contest we shall call!
'Let William shoot his famous bow
'At distance great and target small,
'And so by doing he can...