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November Poetry

Week 1- Fungi

The Elf and The Dormouse by Oliver Herford


Under a toadstool crept a wee Elf,

Out of the rain to shelter himself.

Under the toadstool, sound asleep,

Sat a big Dormouse all in a heap.

Trembled the wee Elf, frightened and yet

Fearing to fly away lest he get wet.

To the next shelter--maybe a mile!

Suddenly the wee Elf smiled a wee smile.

Tugged till the toadstool toppled in two.

Holding it over him, gaily he flew.

Soon he was safe home, dry as could be.

Soon woke the Dormouse--"Good gracious me!

"Where is my toadstool?" loud he lamented.

-And that's how umbrellas first were invented.



Week 2- Moss


All overgrown by cunning moss by Emily Dickinson


All overgrown by cunning moss,

All interspersed with weed,

The little cage of “Currer Bell”

In quiet Haworth laid.

This bird, observing others,

When frosts too sharp became,

Retire to other latitudes,

Quietly did the same.

But differed in returning;

Since Yorkshire hills are green,

Yet not in all the nests I meet

Can nightingale be seen.

Gathered from any wanderings,

Gethsemane can tell

Through what transporting anguish

She reached asphodel!

Soft falls the sound of Eden

Upon her puzzled ear;

Oh, what an afternoon for heaven,

When Brontë entered there!



Week 3- Lichen


November By William Cullen Bryant

Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!

One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air,

Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds ran,

Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.

One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,

And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,

And the blue Gentian flower, that, in the breeze,

Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee

Shall murmur by the hedge that skim the way,

The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,

And man delight to linger in thy ray.

Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear

The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.




Week 4- Weather


Who Has Seen the Wind? By Christina Rossetti

Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.

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