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Miranda
08-03-2004, 04:13 PM
On the favourite poem thread 5Parker says he lied about his favourite poem and posted another different from the first. But this is what poetry is for isn't it - to reflect you how feel at certain times and so one day - or hour, one thing is favourite and the next it might be something else. So this thread is just to post any poem you want to share...just because - for any reason in the world - you want to.

Miranda

Miranda
08-03-2004, 04:21 PM
They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few.)
You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,
And the swish of skirts on the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods...
But there is no road through the woods.

Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936

Koa
08-07-2004, 08:13 AM
Good thread!!! I'll be back!

Isagel
08-20-2004, 04:25 AM
To a Fat Lady Seen From the Train

O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
When the grass is soft as the breast of doves
And shivering sweet to the touch?
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?

-- Frances Cornford

Miranda
08-22-2004, 05:34 PM
I think that's great Isagel! Here's one from me:

Cobwebs by E.L.M King

Between me and the rising sun,
This way and that the cobwebs run;
Their myriad wavering lines of light
Dance up the hill and out of sight.

There is no land possesses half
So many lines of telegraph
As those the spider elves have spun
Between me and the rising sun