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Spring Song

ALL winter through I sat alone,
Doors barred and windows shuttered fast,
And listened to the wind's faint moan,
And ghostly mutterings of the past;
And in the pauses of the rain,
'Mid whispers of dead sorrow and sin,
Love tapped upon the window pane:
I had no heart to let him in.

But now, with spring, my doors stand wide;
My windows let delight creep through;
I hear the skylark sing outside;
I see the crocus, golden new.
The pigeons on my window-sill,
Winging and wooing, flirt and flout,--
Now Love must enter if he will,
I have no heart to keep him out.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Of rains and ruins

She sat on the window sill

Till the light was stolen

The dark sky looming above

Knew no respite

From morn to eve

She wept and wept

Tears flooding the earth

No trace of father

Did the little girl discern

There she slept all by herself

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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The Last Girl I Called Beautiful

She was too beautiful to my eye
That scarce I did not see
She could not be who I wished
Who I longed her to be
She would not feel as I hoped
It became a matter of fact
Which dismayed my dreams
Which took my heart
And beat it senseless
Sill I see her as beautiful
Some things will never change
Old dogs and new tricks
No we cannot be taught
Alas my heart was once young
And believed in love so fluidly
That it flowed like a river
Now a trickling stream
The water is still soothing
Upon it I still feed
The last girl I called beautiful

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poem by Matthew Holloway
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Where or When

They would meet
Just as he had dreamed
Behind the tall chestnut tree
Hidden away in her tower
Not many has seen her
No one can tell him about her
And he wonders and wishes
To know
Why this familiar feeling
That he knows her

Awake from his usual nightmare
Now standing by his window
Resting his arm on the bottom sill
S he stood and stare at the silhouette
Of her house on the hill
Just then her lights on same as his
Can it be that she sensed him to?
Or was it just curiosity?
As they stare at each other from afar

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poem by Persian Khushi
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My Dream Regarding The Two Beautiful Birds

i

how do you get to
hit two beautiful birds
with a single
stone?

ii

or how to make these two
beautiful birds to get to stay
beside my window sill?

iii

how do i make these two beautiful birds
happier?
shall i make a bird house on a tree
beside my house
and give them grains every morning of the day?

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Primitive

I have heard about the civilized,
the marriages run on talk, elegant and honest, rational. But you and I are
savages. You come in with a bag,
hold it out to me in silence.
I know Moo Shu Pork when I smell it
and understand the message: I have
pleased you greatly last night. We sit
quietly, side by side, to eat,
the long pancakes dangling and spilling,
fragrant sauce dripping out,
and glance at each other askance, wordless,
the corners of our eyes clear as spear points
laid along the sill to show
a friend sits with a friend here.

Anonymous submission.

poem by Sharon Olds
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The Letter

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL, DIED FEBRUARY 27, 1887

I held his letter in my hand,
And even while I read
The lightning flashed across the land
The word that he was dead.

How strange it seemed! His living voice
Was speaking from the page
Those courteous phrases, tersely choice,
Light-hearted, witty, sage.

I wondered what it was that died!
The man himself was here,
His modesty, his scholar's pride,
His soul serene and clear.

These neither death nor time shall dim,
Still this sad thing must be--
Henceforth I may not speak to him,

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poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Pine Tree

I'm a pine tree in a ceramic pot,
Sitting on a ledge beside a window.
The other trees outside have grown a lot,
But my maturation has been so slow.
I watch each season pass in front of me.
I watch the world wear down in bad weather.
I watch each tree become green and healthy
In front-yard forests—tall and together.
I see the leaves go brown, flake and crumble.
I see the barren branches of winter.
I see nature force them to be humble
When lightning crashes them into splinters.
I'm fine looking from here, my window sill.
In watching, I experience life still.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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Butterfly, Butterfly

Hoping to catch your eye
Circling around you, oh my
Butterfly, butterfly, come into the light
Oh, what a beautiful sight
Flying so gracefully
Into the sky, the butterfly
Trying to catch a butterfly
Fly, fly, fly, butterfly
There he sets upon the mums
I'm having so much fun
Here's another on the sill
Your standing so still
You go to touch him
There he goes, the butterfly
I hear a tapping on the window
It's the butterfly, fly, fly, fly
There he goes into the sky
Flying so high, the butterfly
I'll see you another day
Butterfly, butterfly, away

poem by Sharon Adamson
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The Crescent Moon

Slipping softly through the sky
Little horned, happy moon,
Can you hear me up so high?
Will you come down soon?

On my nursery window-sill
Will you stay your steady flight?
And then float away with me
Through the summer night?

Brushing over tops of trees,
Playing hide and seek with stars,
Peeping up through shiny clouds
At Jupiter or Mars.

I shall fill my lap with roses
Gathered in the milky way,
All to carry home to mother.
Oh! what will she say!

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poem by Amy Lowell
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