Quotes about young, page 15
Dolly and the Salesman
There's a salesperson at the door
someone said
and so you went to the door
and there was the young salesman
with a book in his hand
and in a sharp grey suit
and hair neat and short cut
yes?
you said
I represent Carson's stores
and it has been brought
to my notice
that you are behind
with your payments
is that so?
you said
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poem by Terry Collett
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Amanda Jane
Amanda Jane
Just thirteen, with wide bright smile
Across the field, she'd ride a mile.
Encampment there, with tents galore
Too much excitement... she can't ignore.
Then she see's him standing there
Young leath lad, wavy brown hair
A soldier boy who stands so tall
He's answered now, his countries call.
Amanda Jane, Amanda Jane,
A fine young soldier you have seen,
With shoulders wide and eyes gray-blue
Some day He'll ask to marry you.
For nigh four years, men fought and died
Mothers wept and Widows cried
What's left of family, moved up North
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poem by Carolyn Ford Witt
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Lochinvar
O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Crow And The Doe
Again and again the wise ol’ crow said to the sweet, young doe,
“Don’t play by the winding brook since that’s where hunters go.”
But sweet, young doe said, “I love to play by this gentle stream.
As I drink its cool water, I see how pretty that I seem.
While I’m there, I’ll be watchful and be careful as I can.
Besides, the many times I’ve played there I’ve never seen a man.”
Wise ‘ol crow frowned, pointing his wing as he quickly said,
“Innocent, sweet young doe, you won’t see hunters; just feel their lead.
You may drink the water and watch yourself while you’re having fun
Though from my perch I can see hunters and each one has a gun.
Please stay deep in the forest where no man or gun will go.
Play with your friends and have fun, but always let your mother know.”
Well, sweet, young doe had other ideas of what would be fun to do.
She thought, “Since I’m now two year old, I’ll try something new.”
There was fun and lots food for the taking at a farm far down stream.
To play with calves, piglets and chicks was almost too much to dream.
So off went young doe and her friends, laughing and singing at will,
“With our new buddies we’ll eat farm food till we’ve all had our fill.”
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poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Old Land And The Young Land
The Young Land said, ``I have borne it long,
But can suffer it now no more;
I must end this endless inhuman wrong
Within hail of my own free shore.
So fling out the war-flag's folds, and let the righteous cannons roar!''
'Twas a quick, rash word, for the strong Young Land
Is a Land whose ways are peace;
It weareth no mail, and its keels are manned
With cotton, and corn, and fleece,
While lands there are that live cased in steel, and whose war-hammers never cease.
And these, when they saw the Young Land gird
Its loins to redress the wrong,
Whispered one to the other, ``Its heart is stirred,
But its hosts are an undrilled throng,
And its bolts yet to forge, so quick let us strike before that it grows too strong.''
And they said to the Old Land, ``Surely you
Will help us to foil its claim?
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poem by Alfred Austin
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Young Benjie
Of all the maids of fair Scotland,
The fairest was Marjorie;
And young Benjie was her ae true love,
And a dear true love was he.
And wow but they were lovers dear,
And lov'd full constantlie;
But aye the mair when they fell out,
The sairer was their plea.
And they ha'e quarrell'd on a day,
Till Marjorie's heart grew wae;
And she said she'd chuse another luve,
And let young Benjie gae.
And he was stout and proud-hearted,
And thought o't bitterlie;
And he's gane by the wan moonlight,
To meet his Marjorie.
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poem by Andrew Lang
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Young Koekemoer (in reply to A. Brodrick)
Way back in the days
of the old Transvaal republic
in the Marico district lived a young farmer
called Hans Koekemoer, who was a great horseman
and a superb marksman
who crossed many rivers with his roan horse
and owned a Martini Henri rifle
and he was a great lover, skilled and sought by many ladies
and no other guy could compete with him
but one day an impi of Matabele warriors invaded the great Marico
burning down farmsteads, raiding cattle and killing farmers,
women and children
and the farmers were called up on commando
riding out on their horses with guns in their hands
and they fought bravely against that impi.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Burned By The Light
When I was young so young so long ago.
Of an age, teenage, and less, much much less.
I used to say, to myself; repeatedly, to myself.
‘I am a voice crying in the wilderness.
Who am I? Who am I? ’
When I was young so young so long ago.
Of an age, teenage, and less, much much less.
I used to ask this question.
Constantly this question.
‘Words are the tools of my trade.
Who am I? What am I? ’
It was ever an unanswered question.
No one except I, myself, could ever give an answer.
It was only I who saw the lamp.
‘I saw the lamp.’
I saw the lamp shining in the darkness.
I saw the lamp so softly so warmly glowing.
Like mesmerized moth I danced, circling
birthright ring of fire, as I ever tread my mesmeric path,
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Rapunzel
A woman
who loves a woman
is forever young.
The mentor
and the student
feed off each other.
Many a girl
had an old aunt
who locked her in the study
to keep the boys away.
They would play rummy
or lie on the couch
and touch and touch.
Old breast against young breast…
Let your dress fall down your shoulder,
come touch a copy of you
for I am at the mercy of rain,
for I have left the three Christs of Ypsilanti
for I have left the long naps of Ann Arbor
and the church spires have turned to stumps.
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poem by Anne Sexton
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Almon Keefer
Ah, Almon Keefer! what a boy you were,
With your back-tilted hat and careless hair,
And open, honest, fresh, fair face and eyes
With their all-varying looks of pleased surprise
And joyous interest in flower and tree,
And poising humming-bird, and maundering bee.
The fields and woods he knew; the tireless tramp
With gun and dog; and the night-fisher's camp--
No other boy, save Bee Lineback, had won
Such brilliant mastery of rod and gun.
Even in his earliest childhood had he shown
These traits that marked him as his father's own.
Dogs all paid Almon honor and bow-wowed
Allegiance, let him come in any crowd
Of rabbit-hunting town-boys, even though
His own dog 'Sleuth' rebuked their acting so
With jealous snarls and growlings.
But the best
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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