A poem by J.F. Conant

He who loves an old house never loves in vain. How can an old house used to sun and rain, to lilac and to larkspur and an elm above-ever fail to answer the heart that gives it love?

Friday, September 2, 2011

I am a terrible person!!!

I saw this poem on a wonderful blog called A Happy Miscellany (http://ahappymiscellany.typepad.com/) and I am shamelessly stealing it!!

The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel-
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Burning brush,
New books, erasers,
Chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
Well-honeyed hum,
And Mother cuts
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze.

- John Updike

Doesn't that just epitomize this time of year???? LOVE IT!!


Granny Annie said...

Surely John Updike would have wanted as many as possible to read and enjoy this little poem. It certainly affected me. And, I wonder, do they still have chalk boards in schools or have they been replaced by dry-erase markers on wipe-able boards?

Paula said...

Yes! I love it too and glad you stole it and shared it with us!