My Poem>A Freeze

A deepest winter night,

the lean little woman

hardly made her stiff hands warmed

in the hollow corner.

Her infant laying quiet in the narrow cradle

is silent, and just

has been stared at it's mother long;

listening to her thin repeat

to breathe out a spring coming.

then a chill wind opens the door suddenly,

with a wreath the fair flowery woman walks into and

passes by, around the dark house

white candles come and brightened

and on their faces soon turn bright and

glow with heaps of

glorious SMILES.

Reading>Poem: A Little Budding Rose

A Little Budding Rose
By Emily Bronte

It was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell,
It breathed from its heart invisible.

The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,
Its root has felt a worm,
And like a heart beloved and slighted,
Filed, faded, shrunk its form.
Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,
I stole thee from thy natal bower.

I was the worm that withered thee
Thy tears of dew all fell for me;
Leaf and silk and rose are gone,
Exile earth they died upon
Yes, that last breath of balmy scent
With alien breezes sadly blent!
http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Bront%C3%AB

Reading>Poem: A Dead Rose

A Dead Rose
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

O Rose! who dare to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat, ---
Kept seven years in a drawer--thy titles shame thee.

The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day, ---
If breathing now, ---unsweetened would forego thee.

The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn, ---
If shining now, ---with not a hue would light thee.

The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was, ---
If dropping now, ---would darken where it met thee.

The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now, ---would coldly overrun thee.

The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive, ---
If passing now, ---would blindly overlook thee.

The beat doth recognize thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete, ---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.

Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee.

http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Barrett_Browning

＊My Poem>Rain

Rain, is the major festival around the world,
The delight belongs to the heaven, at least.
Lasting existence, against the cognition
Flowing out my decades.
They kiss a little stone
On the road staring at the stars
And taste hunger and hardship on those
Guests' senseless faces or covering with
Another calling. They sign the couple
to leave or re-encounter;
Even on the cement floor a drop
Became into a dark mask and renders
Its deep shock
after a caught charged to Nature
can be doing a nameless suitor.

Rainning is indeed the time for celebrating,
There JOY ended.
Twisting and spreading out a wet handkerchief,
Taste and swallow up the sweet rainbow
For rainning is exactly the time, much earlier or later,
Which suits with keeping on dancing in earth
With those who beating their pair of white wings.