Because I love poetry and especially children's poetry I intend to share a poem or two a day for the next few weeks to celebrate National Poetry Month. Poetry has a way of speaking truths otherwise difficult to articulate as well as bringing us laughter and good cheer.
Here's to a rousing mixed bag of poems:
I begin with an offering from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow that I had memorized from when I was young but which gained new meaning when our third child, full of spirit, love and willfulness, grew herself a gorgeous mop top of thick, dark curly hair. At age three amidst the mop she had one dark curl that fell down onto her little forehead whenever she leaned forward.
There was a little girl
There was a little girl, Who had a little curl, Right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, She was very good indeed, But when she was bad she was horrid.
Now, I could thankfully never say our curly headed child was horrid but she did have a dramatic streak...still does!
When her older sister started a new school in grade three she came home one day so excited to have found another poem which even better suited our youngest daughter as it had her first name in it.
The poem was in a book by the fabulous Arnold Lobel (of Frog and Toad fame) called Whiskers and Rhymes and the poem was called: Clara Little Curlylocks
which perfectly suited our curly headed Clara, queen of the calapitters and rescuer of ladybugs.
And to finish the first day of April on a poignant note I would like to welcome you to an all time favourite poem of mine which was also written by Longfellow. I have fond memories of my parents reciting it together for us by candlelight on several Earth Hour evenings which we had the good fortune of sharing. I also know this is a special poem for a dear friend reading this.
The Day is Done
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Wishing you much wellness!
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