Poetry

I have always loved poetry and am now getting back in the mood for writing some. I pulled an old book off of my shelf the other day knowing that it was poems of Robert Louis Stevenson but never having read any. What a treasure! There is just something that breathes and lives and awakes in me when I read poetry. Thought I'd share a bit from him.

Picture-books in Winter

Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.

Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.

All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.

We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.

How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?