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Elizabeth Madox Roberts
The woodpecker pecked out a little round hole
And made him a house in the telephone pole.
One day when I watched he poked out his head,
And he had on a hood and a collar of red.
When the streams of rain pour out of the sky,
And the sparkles of lightning go flashing by,
And the big, big wheels of thunder roll,
He can snuggle back in the telephone pole.
The reminisce of your storm still shook
In my soul,
But I learned to take shelter
In my own heart.
Gather 'round
Close your eyes and
Listen as I tell you a tale:
Let me introduce you to Noreen
She, much like a sponge, sits and soaks everything in.
Every morning you can see her
Sitting, and staring.
Sometimes, with a crossword puzzle nestled between her fingers.
As usual, Noreen sat there.
All day, everyday.
Contented by just sitting there,
Watching,
She watched as the buzz passed her by,
Cocooned in her bus shelter.
Who did she watch?
Why was she there?
Winds blow the open grassy places bleak;
But where this old wall burns a sunny cheek,
They eddy over it too toppling weak
To blow the earth or anything self-clear;
Moisture and color and odor thicken here.
The hours of daylight gather atmosphere.
I came to a shelter
able to walk
no farther in rain.
There I found,
with a note
"You will need these"
a pair of dry boots:
my size.
Puissant woman!...
Sheltering tiny things like
English primroses!
Through the sheltering sycamores
Blows the wild wind from the shores,
And the nations of the wheat
Bow and sway before his feet.
Where the far fields fade, and die
In the shining of the sky,
Right across the spacious plain
He is gone, and back again.
He will ruffle, as they browse,
Those old meadow-gods, the cows;
He will toss, like prancing steeds,
All the beanfields and the reeds,
Whilst the scattered clouds on high
Speed like galleons through the sky.
We alone are safe indoors,
Sheltered by the sycamores.