Poetry

I'm not a huge fan of poetry.  I did ok with it in school, but the truth is it always made me feel stupid. I could see the symbolism when it was pointed out to me and I was always ok with the other elements of poetry, alliteration, onomatapoeia, similie, metaphor, meter, you know all that good stuff.  I always thoyght I disliked poetry because I was never allowed to just read it for pleasure. It sucked all the beauty out of it when I had to analyze everything I read.  That's why I liked teaching poetry to my first and second graders.  Analysis consisted of finding sight words or words in the same family, rhyming words, but mostly we read for meaning.  I was finally able to enjoy poetry and my kids did too.
So you're probably wondering where this is going?  It's pretty much just me being sappy.  It's taking a minute to look around and smell the roses.  Most of the poems I enjoyed with my classes were fun, but there was one that pops into my head in the fall every year.  I remember how I was always so eager to share this with my students as soon as fall started, but it's not a September or October poem.  It's a November poem.  So, on November first, I'm sharing it with you.  All my marigolds are dead in my vegetable garden.  Only the kale remains.  Most trees are almost bare.  I've put away all the kids summer clothes. I'm wearing my Uggs.  And the geese are leaving.

Something Told the Wild Geese By Rachel Field It was time to go, Though the fields lay golden Something whispered, "snow." Leaves were green and stirring, Berries, luster-glossed, But beneath warm feathers Something cautioned, "frost." All the sagging orchards Steamed with amber spice, But each wild breast stiffened At remembered ice. Something told the wild geese It was time to fly, Summer sun was on their wings, Winter in their cry.