The Coin

Into my heart's treasury
I slipped a coin
That time cannot take
Nor a thief purloin;
Oh, better than the minting
Of a gold-crowned king
Is the safe-kept memory
Of a lovely thing.

~ Sara Teasdale

Going Home

It's always special, going home,
For there we're sure to find
A well-loved smile, a welcome hand,
A manner sweet and kind.
And going home is beautiful,
For though we've traveled on,
We still have ties innumerable
That link us with our home.
For those of us who can't be home
With any frequency,
We still have bonds to take us there
Within our memory.

We think of Mother's homemade pies,
A fort up in the tree,
Of baseball games and picnicking,
Of family unity,
Of little brother's steadfast love,
Of boyhood pets we knew,
Of fishing trips and gardening -
The thoughts are never few.
The thoughts go on and on -
I'm glad they never end;
For it is always good to me,
This going home again.

~ Craig E. Sathoff

Home

Home, the spot of earth supremely blest,

A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.

~ Robert Montgomery

Little House

Little house beside the road
Where children laughed and cried,
What gaiety and merriment
Your old walls held inside;
The seasons came,
The years all passed,
Those little children grew up fast
With love beside the road,
Where seeds of joy were sowed.

Betty J. Silconas

Treasures

While life is at the springtime,
I shall garner many things -
The song that in the morning
A joyous redbird sings;
The perfume of the lilac
That the sighing south wind brings;
The softly silken shimmer
Of a field of young green corn;
The web a spider stretches
All dew-wet upon the thorn;
Long, slanting, lacy shadows
And the grass which they adorn.

~ Edith Tatum

Give a Red Rose to Mother

Give a red rose to your mother -
A rose on this Mother's Day -
She who has loved you and raised you;
She who has taught you to pray;
She who through good and through lean times
Has constantly stayed by your side.
Give a red rose to your mother,
Oh, give a red rose to her, child.

Give a red rose to your mother,
Not only this day, but each day.
Sprinkle the velvety petals
With kind words of love and of praise.
For God gave us mothers so precious,
Through they be near or afar.
Oh, give a red rose to your mother,
The rose of a grateful heart. 

~ Loise Pinkerton Fritz

Simple Things

Give me the simple things again:
The sumac's slow September red,
The magic of fall's smoke haze spread,
The fragrance sweet of baking bread,
The blend of voices that I know,
The rooster's urgent rousing crow,
A kerosene lamp's drowsy glow,
The wind-stirred whisper of a pine,
Clusters of grapes upon the vine,
The comfort of a couch that's mine,
The valley churchbell's soft refrain,
The measured rhythm of the rain
Against a starchy-curtained pane,
The piercing boil of brine and spice,
The purring a current under ice,
A fresh-air freedom without price,
The beauty of a rainbow spun,
The flow of wheat fields in the sun,
The homing herd when day is done,
The sweet perfume of clover hay,
The starlit song that follows day
When sunset softly fades away.

Give me the simple things again.
More than a chapter from the past,
All these are memories to last,
Within my joyful heart held fast.

~ Margaret Hasbargen

Goldenrod's Wealth

Fall has arrived; and goldenrod,
Many hearts sing praises
For your radiant, lacy nod
On these special autumn days.
Some say you cause a constant sneeze,
But they still love you dearly;
You wave with every passing breeze,
Renewing friendships yearly.
You humbly choose the fields as home,
But proudly bear your banner;
Above the drying grass and loam,
You reign in regal manner.
Surely the name of goldenrod
Was given for a reason:
Your gold proclaims the wealth of God
All through the autumn season.

~ Annette Swearingen

Autumn

Autumn has 

caught us

in our

summer

wear,

~ Philip Larkin

On Autumn's Doorstep

Tomatoes are red-ripe and plump;
Green peppers shine in the sun;
Apples are red on bending branches;
And the harvest has begun.
Wild grapes swing in bunches
Like jewels on a vine,
And feathery heads of goldenrod
Stand out along a line.
Mornings are cool and moist
The change of autumn is in the air;
High noon is a time of mellow warmth;
On autumn's doorstep, September is here.

~ Edith M. Helstern

September Morning

Now dance the shadow
Between the rows of corn;
Rustling leaves whisper
Across the faded lawn;
Yesterday butterflies
Flew in careless flight,
And fireflies filled the meadow
With scintillating light.
First frost comes tonight,
And stars wink winter warning;
Yet warm is the kiss
Of Autumn's golden morning.

~ Betty Hunter

There is Magic in the Autumn Sunrise

There is magic in the autumn sunrise:
The frost in its infancy, like powdered sugar sprinkled on a hot cake,
The whiteness momentary;
The quiet of the dawn, breathless with each awakening;
The heavy dew tracing designs on the leas with sparkling pearls;
The cobwebs in the grass, soon to be floating in the air.
Yes, there is magic and a revelation in an autumn sunrise.

~ Helen Nencka

Class Reunion

I shall go back again along the trail
My feet once followed when the heart was young.
There is something the years cannot assail
That beckons backward when old songs are sung.
I shall walk quietly through streets grown strange
And hear familiar echoes call my name.
Time is perceived alone through growth and change;
The years leave little that remains the same.

Another generation's feet now walk
The same old path and find it ever new.
Someday they too will gather here to talk
Of life grown rich because this path was true.
Following onward, still the heart will know
Always the road leads back, and I must go.

~ Mary E. Linton

Friendship Tapestry

Beautiful and rich is old friendship;
Like a tapestry threaded with gold,
It shines through the years in splendor
With patterns striking and bold:
Laughter and words softly spoken,
And handclasps warm and true,
Nearness in comforting silence
At times when sorrow comes through.

Pleasures, smiles, and successes
Are woven in threads of song
To brighten the hearts of comrades
As they travel the roads along.
May our friendship ever smolder
With life's warm, tender glow;
And may we meet again like this
And peace and laughter know.

~ Mildred C. Higgins

Little Red School

The little house where boys and girls
Sat with heavy heart,
The red house with the single room
Was where we got our start.
Very close to corn and truth,
To cows and all creation,
America sat with naked feet
And learned to be a nation

~ Robert P. Tristram Coffin

Friendship Happened

Friendship happened in
neighborhoods and classrooms
and lasted for seconds and years.
It turned trees into castles
and marbles into coins,
the streamers on a tricycle
into wings of plastic glory.

~ Beth Kephart

Walking to School

Walking to school down goldenrod byways,
Chorus of blackbirds in frost-painted trees,
Swinging a dinner pail, hearing the crickets,
Feeling the crispness of September's breeze,
Hearing bell music beyond the horizon,
Down in the valley, the one-room red school -
Warm in my heart are these sweet, childhood memories
When life was pure joy with a few simple rules.

~ D.A. Hoover

Trout Fishing

Pursuing the wary speckled trout,
We followed the brooklet in and out
Of its many winding, crooked turns,
Through shadowed places and waist-high ferns.
Beneath and arching summer sky,
We dangled bait to tempt his eye.
A swift dart and tug at the line ---
And he was gone, leaving no sign
Of being there seconds before;
Then we had to turn home once more.
Yes these we shall have for many days:
The scent of crushed mint leaves and the way
Tiny blue forget-me-nots look
Clustered along a pasture brook.

~ Edith Shaw Butler

The Sandpiper

Across the narrow beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I,
And fast I gather, bit by bit,
The scattered driftwood bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud black and swift across the sky;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white lighthouses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,
One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry.
He stars not at my fitful song,
Or flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong;
he scans me with a fearless eye:
Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be tonight
When the loosed storm breaks furiously>
My driftwood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky:
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

~ Celia Thaxter

August is Laughing

August is laughing across the sky,

Laughing while paddle, canoe, and I

Drift, drift,
Where the hills uplift

On either side of the current swift.

~ E. Pauline Johnson

Out Where the West Begins

Out where the handclasp's a little stronger,
Out where the smile dwells a little longer,
That's where the West begins;
Out where the sun is a little brighter,
Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter,
Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter,
That's where the West begins.

Out where the skies are a trifle bluer,
Out where the friendship's a little truer
That's where the West begins;
Out where a fresher breeze is blowing,
Where there's laughter in every streamlet flowing,
Where there's more of reaping and  less of sowing,
That's where the West begins.

Out where the world is in the making,
Where fewer hearts in despair are aching,
That's where the West begins;
Where there's more of singing and less of sighing,
Where there's more of giving and less of buying,
And a man makes friends without half trying,
That's where the West begins.

~ Arthur Chapman

Michigan Summer

The family there, the dune-swept air,
he warmth of sunlight everywhere -
The days flew by on white gull wings,
Leaving so many lovely things:
The clean, fresh smell of pine and lake;
Early mornings, when we'd awake
To the sound of the wren's clear notes
And chugging of the fishing boats;
The lighthouse winking in the pass,
Sunsets framed in rustic glass,
Brown-eyed Susans in a bouquet
On our table at end of day.

~ Mary Mae Martin

Little Cabin in the Pines

There's nothing of value in the place
And nothing that cannot be replaced,
No priceless jewels, nor paintings rare,
Yet all is placed with thoughtful care -
No costly antiques, nor china fine,
But its hearth glows and its windows shine
A loving welcome toe everyone
And award peace with the setting sun.

~ Florence Terry Kyle

It's Never Far

It's never far to an old friend's house,
And the way is smooth and fine;
The path bears many a telltale mark
Of footprints, his and mine.
Each hill and vale and winding curve
Its youthful fancies lend,
And miles are short when I go forth
To the house of an old, old friend.

The day is always bright and fair
When I, on a friend, do call
Who has been a friend in time and stress
And "stool by" through it all.
Though skies are drear and clouds hang low,
And the outlook's drab and gray;
There's a radiant glow at an old friend's house
That drives the gloom away.

Time never drags at an old friend's house,
And the hours are filled with joy.
He pictures me, I picture him
As a carefree, laughing boy.
Old faces beam with wrinkled smiles,
And the long years brightly blend
In a wealth of treasured memories -
At the house of an old, old friend.

~ Adam N. Reiter

Quiet Homes and First Beginning

From quiet homes and first beginning,

Out to the undiscovered ends,

There's nothing worth the wear of winning,

But laughter and the love of friends.

~ Hilaire Belloc

The Kind of Fellow

The kind of fellow I want to know

Is a fellow who's shooting square,

Who plays his game with a steady hand

And always will play it fair.

~ H. Howard Biggar

The Most I Can Do

The most I can do for my friend

is simply be his friend.

~ Henry David Thoreau

Game of Chess

Life is like a game of chess, changing with every move.

~ Chinese Proverb

Now's the Time

Now's the time for mirth and play.

~ Christopher Smart

Life is a Game

Life is a game that must be played:

This truth at least, good friends, we know;

So live and laugh, nor be dismayed.

~ Edwin Arlington Robinson

We Should Talk

We should talk over the lessons of the day or lose

them in Musick, Chess, or the merriments of our

family companions. The heart thus lightened, our

pillows would be soft, and health and long life

would attend the happy scene.

~ Thomas Jefferson