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The Dragonflies'Lair~Tread LII
Poets of The Lair
| May 1, 2008
| Soaring Feather
Posted on 04/30/2008 11:44:25 PM PDT by Soaring Feather
My Dragonfly And Me
If I could be a Dragon Fly
and wing my way through the sky
I would never be shy
just me and my Dragon Fly!
By moonlight we ride the wind
chase the comets tail for fun
by day we would hide from the sun
our fragile wings would come undone
On darkest nights we would use
fireflies as our guide
we would dip and we would glide
through the heavens open wide
and scatter diamonds in the night sky
my Dragon Fly and me...
And we would wing past our lovers
silent in the night...
to kiss their face in our flight
much to their surprise and delight
my Dragon Fly and me in sight...
Such a view do we share
away up here in the air
of breezes soft through our hair
my Dragon Fly and me a pair...
bentfeather©
2002
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TOPICS: Poetry
KEYWORDS: dragonflies; glengaulway; haiku; poetry
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To: All
821
posted on
05/16/2008 1:00:12 PM PDT
by
tomkow6
(...............CHANGE We Can Believe............My "VOICES"!....)
To: tomkow6
Tomkow are you try drive me crazy WHAT ARE YOU DOIN LOL!
822
posted on
05/16/2008 1:02:43 PM PDT
by
SevenofNine
("We are Freepers, all your media belong to us, resistence is futile")
To: SevenofNine; All
823
posted on
05/16/2008 1:08:33 PM PDT
by
tomkow6
(...............CHANGE We Can Believe............My "VOICES"!....)
To: tomkow6; Soaring Feather; All
Tomkow that not what I thinking
I think of Frank Sinatra MY WAY LOL!
Tomkow bring back Russia vodka there is report scientists claim Russia would run out of potatoes made out of Russia Vodka according to BBC wire by year 2050
824
posted on
05/16/2008 1:18:29 PM PDT
by
SevenofNine
("We are Freepers, all your media belong to us, resistence is futile")
To: tomkow6; Soaring Feather; All
Tomkow that not what I thinking
I think of Frank Sinatra MY WAY LOL!
Tomkow bring back Russia vodka there is report scientists claim Russia would run out of potatoes made out of Russia Vodka according to BBC wire by year 2050
825
posted on
05/16/2008 1:18:41 PM PDT
by
SevenofNine
("We are Freepers, all your media belong to us, resistence is futile")
To: tomkow6
To: All
To: Soaring Feather
To: Soaring Feather
To: All
To: Soaring Feather
I am very relaxed, thank you! You?
831
posted on
05/16/2008 1:57:41 PM PDT
by
Lady Jag
(You can contribute to FR any time at https://secure.freerepublic.com/donate)
To: Lady Jag
To: Soaring Feather; Lady Jag
To: Soaring Feather; Lady Jag
To: All
To: Soaring Feather
To: Soaring Feather
To: Lady Jag
"Be like a flower and turn your face to the sun."
- Kahlil Gibran
To: Soaring Feather
839
posted on
05/16/2008 5:01:52 PM PDT
by
Lady Jag
(You can contribute to FR any time at https://secure.freerepublic.com/donate)
To: Lady Jag; tomkow6; MEG33; NY Attitude; Kathy in Alaska; Lost Dutchman; WayzataJOHNN; ...
Good morning everyone.
Fairies, The
by William Allingham
The Fairies
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!
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