All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colours,
He made their tiny wings.
......
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
......
It's too nice a day to read a novel set in England.
We're within inches of the perfect distance from the sun,
the sky is blueberries and cream,
and the wind is as warm as air from a tire.
Even the headstones in the graveyard
Seem to stand up and say "Hello! My name is..."
It's enough to be sitting here on my porch,
thinking about Kermit Roosevelt,
......
This crowded life of God's good giving
No man has relished more than I;
I've been so goldarned busy living
I've never had the time to die.
So busy fishing, hunting, roving,
Up on my toes and fighting fit;
So busy singing, laughing, loving,
I've never had the time to quit.
I've never been one for thinking
......
Out in a world of death far to the northward lying,
Under the sun and the moon, under the dusk and the day;
Under the glimmer of stars and the purple of sunsets dying,
Wan and waste and white, stretch the great lakes away.
Never a bud of spring, never a laugh of summer,
Never a dream of love, never a song of bird;
But only the silence and white, the shores that grow chiller and dumber,
Wherever the ice winds sob, and the griefs of winter are heard.
......
An island sunset, when mango moon is calling,
Lush palm fronds sway, when the day is stalling.
Ivory tailed comet, comes but once in a lifetime,
Sitting in tropical sunset, at just the right time.
Gemmed hummingbird sparkle. Destiny dreams.
Pink sun is roving. Glossy crows' feathers gleam.
What was left behind, is often recalled to mind;
Yet, plum fate isn't unkind, as love again you find.
Strawberry red skies
when home beckons through sage woods
Pink love's going down
as dewdrops on purple rose
prior to the velvet close
Flowers follow me
their fantasy fragrances
recalling burnt gold
Beauty's dying once again
......
Scarlet sun peeks through
a slit in darkling storm clouds.
Butterflies go home.
Sky meets sea at plum border
as pink moon trails, in order.
My, how wamburdsly vett skitterelees
yammer in modduskwom, sutty slivers,
every pop muddleskiddly of red-orange,
in zakrum, zezzledop, vixaddamoth blur!
To see maxfluppinnes' purpled zizum,
at tillaradoom jazzowdline's tyll sass;
in pithy, murldizzily, gibborton ullius,
of dizzledop, rose, klixmuth contrast!
......
In hues orange, pink, red, teal and purple,
the sunset skies look quite unique tonight,
to laud this hour of summer eternal-
pretty as the purple martins in flight!
Each hour's new, though they go in a circle;
And I'm thrilled fate put me here for this sight.
Early, eager moon, remembers cream clouds,
Coming to soon fade, like the floral crowds.