The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon

Song of Myself

Walt whitman

The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,

The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,

The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,

The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load,

I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,

I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,

And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

It is an Ancient Mariner

From the rhyme of the ancient mariner

BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

It is an ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three.

'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,

Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

Earth's Greenery

Earth's greenery

Greenery is in roots of earth,
outside there is it's dearth.
Rains have ceased to dry,
summers are just passing by.
All the hell that air surrounds,
clouds the sky by leaps and bounds.
Its a bane if not goin to decrease,
threats to melt, our breaths will freeze.
To see this ideal planet of life,
perishing in this human strife
Of ignoring love & soaring hate,
why not believe its never too late.
To pick a positive shade of tryst,
from the nature's love and mist.
Its a hope to raise the blooms,
All the world in greenish rooms.
That prosper to let possible a birth
Greenery is in root of earth! 

REETESH SABR

Red sky at night, yellow sky in the morning

Sails sailing

Two blue paintings starting to evolve

The shape in this painting got trimmed a bit.  And the bright, bright yellow has clouded over with a light purple haze.  

 The red shape in this painting finally detached from the left side.

What light in yonder window breaks?

oh say, can you see by the dawn's early light?