When sh comes sweet talking in the room She warms us Like grits and gravy And

When sh comes sweet talking in the room she warms us

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When sh comes sweet-talking in the room, She warms us Like grits and gravy, And we rise up shining. Even at nighttime Mama is a sunrise That promises tomorrow and tomorrow Hope is the thing with feathers By Emily Dickinson Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul,
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And sings the tune--without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. The Wind By James Stephens The wind stood up and gave a shout. He whistled on his fingers and Kicked the withered leaves about And thumped the branches with his hand And said that he'd kill and kill, And so he will and so he will. I wandered lonely as a cloud By William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
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Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed---and gazed---but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. They Have Yarns By Carl Sandburg They have yarns Of a skyscraper so tall they had to put hinges On the two top stories so to let the moon go by, Of one corn crop in Missouri when the roots
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Went so deep and drew off so much water The Mississippi so thin they had only one side, Of a fog so thick we shingled the barn and six feet out on the fog, it to the west coast where it rained out under him. Of the man who drove a swarm of bees across the Rocky Mountains and the Desert and “didn’t lose a bee”, Of a Mountain railroad curve where the engineer in his cab can touch the caboose and spit in the conductor’s eye. Of the boy who climbed a cornstalk growing so fast he would have Starved to death if they hadn’t shot biscuits up to him, Of the old Man’s whiskers: “When the wind was with his whiskers, It arrived the day before he did”, Of the hen laying a square egg and cackling, “Ouch!” And of hens laying eggs with the dates printed on them, Of the ship captain’s shadow, it froze to the deck on A cold winter night, Of mutineers on that same ship put to clipping rust With rubber hammers, Of the sheep counter who was fast and accurate, “I just count their feet and divide by four”,
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Of the man so tall, he must climb a ladder to shave himself, Of the run to teeny-weeny, it takes two men and a boy to see him, Of mosquitoes; one can kill a dog, two of them a man,
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  • Fall '10
  • Angelica Magtibay
  • Thou, Carl Sandburg

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