#rhyme

[ellenya]

One day, one rhyme- Day 3528

Some people invent medicines

Some people fix eyesight-

I try to turn the skylight off

Cos I think it’s a light…

[ellenya]

One day, one rhyme- Day 3527

Aggregate fruit that is my fav

From bramble bushes it was gave,

Now locomotive will contain:

Blackberries riding on a train.

[alexfoxblast]

I plead the gods of this fic, bestow the next chapter

on us your followers and readers of your script.

Its been long since we were last fed so shall you remember your

followers us who pray, write the next chapter and send it our

way.

Author : me/alexfoxblast on tumbler/Ghost_cat_blast on ao3

[makeitwithmoore]

Free Printable - Hands Up High Rhyme

Anything to get those little hands moving was good in my book. This got the majority of my kids to follow along, and when it was over, their hands were (hopefully) in their laps. Or at the very least, most of them weren’t poking at their neighbor lol. Hands Up High Rhyme Canva Template Hands Up High RhymeDownload

Free Printable - Hands Up High Rhyme

[domlarkin]

The Whispering Thatch: My Warwickshire Sanctuary

I rest my head beneath the straw-capped roof, At Foxglove Croft, from crowded towns aloof. I wear its golden thatch, my rustic crown, And watch the silver Avon winding down.

Behind a rusted gate, a secret grows, Where tangled bluebells guard the bleeding-rose. The monkshood blooms beside the nightshade’s gleam, A wild, forgotten garden lost in dream.

I breathe the blushing petals' perfumed sigh, As climbing blossoms kiss the summer sky. I walk past willows weeping heavy grace, Like weary queens within my sacred space.

The gravel paths extend a friendly hand, To lead my steps across the dreaming land. A flash of velvet flutters in the breeze— Bright butterflies are dancing through the trees.

The brush-foot Peacock displays its painted pride, With large, blue eyespots glaring by my side; A watchful nymph to guard my secret thought, With wisdom that no worldly gold has bought.

The Monarch follows next, a sovereign soul, Whose generational journey is my goal; A migrant muse in tangerine and black, That keeps my searching mind from looking back.

They fly like living thoughts, reborn and free, A spirit psyche softly guiding me. The twilight deepens, washing all the skies In melted gold and deep, majestic dyes.

A silver moon ascends the quiet hill, To paint the sleepy world in shadows, still. It weaves a coat of gossamer and white, And crowns the valley in a holy light.

The shifting shadows wrap the world in peace, And grant my searching mind a sweet release. I step inside my candle-lit retreat, Where ancient stone protects my weary feet.

The scent of dried-up lavender and sage Hangs low above my clean, expectant page. An iron hearth consumes the applewood, And warms the space where silent bards have stood.

I sit within a velvet wingback chair, And leave behind the weight of worldly care. Before a lattice window sits my desk, Of solid oak, complex and arabesque.

Beside my lamp, a heavy goblet gleams, Of spiced and golden mead to trigger dreams. A sun-browned loaf, from roasted grain complete, Sits near a dark and steaming bean, so sweet.

A brass lamp glows with low and golden fire, To feed the glowing sparks of my desire. Beneath the velvet dome of violet night, The landscape glows in dying amber light.

The buzzing bees are busy in my yard, As raindrops patter on a sleepy chard. A drowsy numbness sweetens all the air, A heavy syrup drowning away despair.

I drink the vintage of this quiet hour, And yield my senses to a hidden power. My inkwells overflow with cloying wine, A dark elixir, rich and opaline.

The heavy thoughts ignite my sudden spark, Like flash of lightning crashing through the dark. I break the heavy chrysalis of doubt, And let the trapped, immortal verses out.

My inkwell drinks the magic of the scene, And pours a river on the pages clean. My feather pen begins to scratch and scritch, To weave a universe, sublime and rich.

The roaring silence sings a sacred song, Where Shakespeare's haunting shadows dance along. My words take wing, like butterflies they soar, And I am reborn, a poet evermore.

[ellenya]

One day, one rhyme- Day 3526

I bought a plant, and it grew fine

And so I bought another nine-

But they dried out under the sun

And now I’m back to having none.

[ellenya]

One day, one rhyme- Day 3525

Aussie pink and grey flock have fun

On the Hills Hoist under the sun;

Cute birds and clean laundry combine:

Galahs play on the washing line.