poetry rotator

A large poppy fieldIn Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below

John McCrae

reflecting sunset over a large lake with a single swan swimmingFor tho' from out our bourne of time and place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

pine trees at the base of a misty mountain Though wise men at their end know dark is right.
Because their words have forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Dylan Thomas



craggy cliffs rising from a misty seaLike as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

William Shakespeare

autumn tree lined forest roadI'd like to leave an after glow of smiles
when life is done.
I'd like to leave an echo whispering
softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
and bright and sunny days.



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