Sunday, March 14, 2010
Previous post on Stone Mountain.
Stone Mountain State Park.
Monday, March 8, 2010
The Ragged Old House
By: Sally Roberts
As I passed by that ragged old house
Most of the windows were still in their places
But some were all broken and shattered.
As I looked longingly at the old house
A tear had formed in my eye,
No one lives there no more the old house is empty
And then I began to cry.
The owners moved out a long time ago,
And the old house is there all alone.
The grass is all dead the porch broken down
And the weeds, oh how they have grown.
I walked to the porch then opened the door
It's hinges were old and rusty,
Some cobwebs were hanging up high on the walls
And the room was all dirty and dusty.
The curtains were torn the pictures all crooked
The mattresses were old and rotten,
There were memories in this old house
Memories that were somehow forgotten.
This house that is ragged battered and worn
And its hinges all rusted and old,
Belonged to my Grandma and Grandpa back then
This ragged old house I was told.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Behold! a giant am I!
Aloft here in my tower,
With my granite jaws I devour
The maize, and the wheat, and the rye,
And grind them into flour.
I look down over the farms;
In the fields of grain I see
The harvest that is to be,
And I fling to the air my arms,
For I know it is all for me.
I hear the sound of flails
Far off, from the threshing-floors
In barns, with their open doors,
And the wind, the wind in my sails,
Louder and louder roars.
I stand here in my place,
With my foot on the rock below,
And whichever way it may blow
I meet it face to face,
As a brave man meets his foe.
And while we wrestle and strive
My master, the miller, stands
And feeds me with his hands;
For he knows who makes him thrive,
Who makes him lord of lands.
On Sundays I take my rest;
Church-going bells begin
Their low, melodious din;
I cross my arms on my breast,
And all is peace within.