Tag Archives: blog.seocopywriting

The Lily of the valley

“The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass
Answer’d the lovely maid and said: “I am a watry weed,
And I am very small, and love to dwell in lowly vales;
So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head;
Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
Saying: ‘Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily flower,”
William Blake, The Book of Thel, and the Marriage of Heaven and Hell

Art – Kelly Louise Judd

Pirate Love

Pirating love
is hunting the fields
in early May dreams
for fireflies and roses alike
to keep them barred
in jars and bottles with light

until your heart
inflames to the touch

and burns
from drinking shades of the evening
and hues of the stars

only to spark
in the dark
as source of delight
in torn summer nights

© Iulia Halatz

Art by Andrea Kowch.

Fairy Tales

“O, to be sure, we laugh less and play less and wear uncomfortable disguises like adults, but beneath the costume is the child we always are, whose needs are simple, whose daily life is still best described by fairy tales.”
Leo Rosten

Art by Nadezhda Illarionova.

Foreign Country

He couldn’t be captured in a phrase
Or one hundred…

He was like no one,

He was like a foreign country
That you travelled through
Eerie landscapes and glistening lakes
Towards horizons
Camouflaged in mists
Precluding
Happiness
once felt
And dreamed about.

He was like a giant umbrella
In bright colors
Protective of winds and shadows
Bandaging unseen wounds
In tenderness and
Love.

Also featured at Medium.com/Blue Insights

Art – Harald Sohlberg

Reposting an old poem written in 2015

Aftermath

Aftermath
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

When the summer fields are mown,
When the birds are fledged and flown,
And the dry leaves strew the path;
With the falling of the snow,
With the cawing of the crow,
Once again the fields we mow
And gather in the aftermath.

Not the sweet, new grass with flowers
Is this harvesting of ours;
Not the upland clover bloom;
But the rowen mixed with weeds,
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,
Where the poppy drops its seeds
In the silence and the gloom.

Art – Samuel Palmer, Harvest Moon, The Weald, Kent, 1833


Also featured at Quora.com.