By: Shel Silverstein
I raked the leaves on our front lawn;
It took all afternoon
I started at ‘round half past one
And said “I’ll be done soon”
But once I saw how more leaves fall
Each time I make a pile,
I quickly saw this outdoor chore
Was going to take a while.
And so I did what my dad said,
A winner does to wire
I studied that great pile of leaves
And then I jumped right in.
By: Sylvia Plath
Haunched like a faun, he hooed
from grove of moon-glint and fen-frost
until all owls in the twigged forest
flapped black to look and brood
on the call this man made.
No sound but a drunken coot
lurching home along river bank;
stars hung water-sunk, so a rank
of double star-eyes lit
boughs where those owls sat,
An arena of yellow eyes
watched the changing shape he cut
saw hoof harden from foot, saw sprout
goat-horns; marked how god rose
and galloped woodward in that guise
(An excerpt from) The Raven
By: Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, Distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.