Sunday, May 22, 2011

Monday, April 25, 2011

Thought of the week

Extra ordinary people not do different things
They do things differently

Saturday, April 23, 2011

The Solitary Reaper

A voice so thrilling ne'er heard
In spring time from cuckoo-bird
Breaking the silence of the seas
Amoung the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things
And battles long ago
Or is it some motre humble lay
Familier matter of to-day?
Same natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
that has been, and may be again?
Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending
I saw her singing at her work
And o'er the sticle bending
I listen'd, motionless and still
And as i mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more
- William Wordsworth

Friday, April 22, 2011

The road not taken

Two roads divergedin a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long i stood
And I looked down one as far as i could
To where it bent in the undergrowth,
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Thought as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morninig equally lay,
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh! I kept the first for another day
yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if i should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence,
Two roads diverged in a wodd, and I-
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference
- Robert Frost

Friday, October 5, 2007

A Window Away

I look out of my window what do I see?
A cardinal, a blue jay and a chickadee.

They sit on my feeder or in my tree,
They're fun to watch and company.

When I here them sing thier pretty song,
My worries and cares are gone.

Hummingbirds engoy my flower,
Succulent nectar they love to devour

The chipmunk fills his cheeks
With seed that he seeks.

He scurries away back to his dain
Then comes back for seeds again

Rabbits run, hop and play
On the wonderful sunny day

Mother nature is a window away
I am thankful for this every day.

-Sandi Vander Sluis

Saturday, September 29, 2007


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near ;
He will not see me stopping here,
Between the woods and frogen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake;
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep;
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

- Robert Frost