Monday, December 04, 2006


I think that I shall never see
a poem lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth sweet flowing breast
A tree that loks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray
A tree that may in summer wear
a nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.(From Joyce Kilmer 1886-1918)
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo,
Shovel them under an let me work.
I am tge grass;I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ipres and verdun
Shovel them under and let me workçTwi years,ten years,and passengers ask ther conductor:
Whar pace is this?
Where are we now?
I m the grass let my work
(From:Carl Sandsburg,born 1878)
Images;Gustav Klimt,left,Forest,rigth The Field

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