My Cats by The Hearth
It’s cold outside, the wind is blowing
Freeze in the air, soon it will be snowing
Nothing can be better on this whole earth
Just watching my cats sleeping by the hearth
The Cat in the Hat By Dr. Seuss
The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house All that cold, cold, wet day. I sat there with Sally. We sat there, we two. And I said, “How I wish We had something to do!” Too wet to go out And too cold to play ball. So we sat in the house. We did nothing at all. So all we could do was to Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit! And we did not like it. Not one little bit. And then Something went BUMP! How that bump made us jump!
We looked! Then we saw him step in on the mat! We looked! And we saw him! The Cat in the Hat! And he said to us, “Why do you sit there like that?” “I know it is wet And the sun is not sunny. But we can have Lots of good fun that is funny!”
“I know some good games we could play,” Said the cat. “I know some new tricks,” Said the Cat in the Hat. “A lot of good tricks. I will show them to you. Your mother Will not mind at all if I do.” Then Sally and I Did not know what to say. Our mother was out of the house For the day. But our fish said, “No! No! Make that cat go away!
Tell that Cat in the Hat You do NOT want to play. He should not be here. He should not be about. He should not be here When your mother is out!” “Now! Now! Have no fear. Have no fear!” said the cat. “My tricks are not bad,” Said the Cat in the Hat. “Why, we can have Lots of good fun, if you wish, With a game that I call UP-UP-UP with a fish!”
“Put me down!” said the fish. “This is no fun at all! Put me don!” said the fish. “I do NOT wish to fall!” “Have no fear!” said the cat. “I will not let you fall. I will hold you up high As I stand on a ball. With a book on one hand! And a cup on my hat! But that is not ALL I can do!’ Said the cat…
The Kitten and the Falling Leaves
That way look, my infant, lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
See the kitten on the wall,
sporting with the leaves that fall.
Withered leaves – one – two and three
from the lofty elder tree.
Though the calm and frosty air,
of this morning bright and fair.
Eddying round and round they sink,
softly, slowly; one might think.
From the motions that are made,
every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Faery hither tending,
to this lower world descending.
Each invisible and mute,
in his wavering parachute.
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
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