Lest We Forget

They shall not grow old. As we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, Nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun, And in the morning,
We will remember them.

By Unknown

My Prairies

I love my prairies, they are mine
From the zenith to the horizon line,
Clipping a world of sky and sod
Like the bended arm and wrist of God.

I love their grasses. The skies
Are larger, and my restless eyes
Fasten of more of earth and air
Than seashore furnishes anywhere.

I love the hazel thickets;and the breeze,
The never resting prairie winds. The trees
That stand like the spear points high
Against the dark blue sky

Are wonderful to me. I love the gold
Of newly shaven stubble, rolled
A royal carpet toward the sun, fit to be
The pathway of a deity.

I love the life of pasture lands; the songs of birds
Are not more thrilling to me tha the herd's
Mad bellowing or the shadow stride
Of mounted herdsmen at my side.

I love my prairies, they are mine
From high sun to horizon line.
The mountians and the cold gray sea
Are not for me, are not for me.


By Hamlin Garland

The Thawing Wind

Come withe the rain, O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snow-bank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate'er you do to-night,
Bathe my window, make if flow,
Malt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit's crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out the door.

By Robert Frost

Tiny Feet

A child's tiny feet, 

Blue, blue with the cold, 

How can they see and not protect you?

Oh, my God!

Tiny wounded feet, 

Bruised all over by pebbles,

Abused by snow and soil!

Man, being blind, ignores

That where you step, you leave

A blosson of bright light,

That where you have placed

Your bleeding little soles

A redolent tuberose grows.

Since, however, you walk

Through the streets so straight,

You are courageous, without fault.

Child's tiny feet, 

two suffering little gems,

How can the people pass, unseeing.