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In November…birds

“In November, some birds move away and some birds stay. The air is full of good-byes and well-wishes. The birds who are leaving look very serious. No silly spring chirping now. They have long journeys and must watch where they are going. The staying birds are serious, too, for cold times lie ahead. Hard times. All berries will be treasures.”
― Cynthia Rylant, In November

When on a Summer’s Morn

WHEN ON A SUMMER’S MORN

By William Henry Davies

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When on a summer’s morn I wake,
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.

To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song;
And common leaves that hum all day
Without a throat or tongue.

And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,
Back in my room alone,
My heart has many a sweet bird’s song —
And one that’s all my own.

Perseverance

PERSEVERANCE

By R.S.S. Andros

 

         A swallow in the spring

Came to our granary, and ‘neath the eaves

Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring

         Wet earth and straw and leaves.

 

         Day after day she toiled

With patient art, but ere her work was crowned,

Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled,

         And dashed it to the ground.

 

         She found the ruin wrought,

But not cast down, forth from the place she flew,

And with her mate fresh earth and grasses brought

         And built her nest anew.

 

         But scarcely had she placed

The last soft feather on its ample floor,

When wicked hand, or chance, again laid waste

         And wrought the ruin o’er.

 

         But still her heart she kept,

And toiled again, — and last night, hearing calls,

I looked, — and lo!  three little swallows slept

         Within the earth-made walls.

 

         What truth is here, O man!

Hath hope been smitten in its early dawn?

Have clouds o’ercast thy purpose, trust, or plan?

         Have faith, and struggle on!