by Anonymous (That means that the author is not known.)
In August, when the days are hot,
I like to find a shady spot,
And hardly move a single bit–
Nature XXVII, Autumn
by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
Beneath the Sea
Were I a fish beneath the sea,
Shell-paved and pearl-brocaded,
Would you come down and live with me,
In groves by coral shaded?
No washing would we have to do;
Our cushions should be sponges–
And many a great ship’s envious crew
Should watch our merry plunges!