The Land of Counterpane - Robert Louis Stevenson When I was sick and lay a-bed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay, To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets All up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still That sits upon the pillow-hill, And sees before him, dale and plain, The pleasant land of counterpane.

Mother o’ Mine Rudyard Kipling

If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o’ mine, 0 mother o’ mine!

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To My Mother Robert Louis Stevenson You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more The little feet along the floor.

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if there are any heavens my mother will E. E. Cummings

if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but it will be a heaven of blackred roses

my father will be(deep like a rose tall like a rose)

standing near my

(swaying over her silent) with eyes which are really petals and see

nothing with the face of a poet really which is a flower and not a face with hands which whisper This is my beloved my

(suddenly in sunlight

he will bow,

& the whole garden will bow)

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This from the Song of Solomon (King James Bible) is a nice one for February when the sun is just starting to peek his pale face through the clouds, and you get the first inkling that spring is actually not that far away: My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over, and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with teh tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

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And a few years ago I read this on the tube - it's was on one of those London Underground posters. Had forgotten it but for some reason was thinking about Robert Louis Stevenson the other day, and he always reminds me of adventure. Makes me think of walking along the Thames.

It's called: Where go the boats?

Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating - Where will all come home?

On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the hill.

Away down the river, A hundred miles or more, Other little children Shall bring my boats ashore.

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I saw this today by Marianne Moore. Short but perfectly formed. Deserves its own post really, but there you go.

It's called: I may, I might, I must.

If you will tell me why the fen appears impassable, I then will tell you why I think that I can get across it if I try.

Marianne Moore (1887-1972)