Quotes about growl, page 19
A Trip to the Vet
Lately, you have been sick
And we just don't know what to do with you.
You're itching at your skin—
Scratching the dry, leathery patches until they scab
And ooze a mixture of blood and puss.
Your ears are dripping a waxy fluid
And the kids choke on it
When they go to cuddle with you.
It's not that we don't love you anymore.
You just don't smell pleasant anymore.
You're also getting crotchety,
As if you snarl at the world that did this to you,
Angry at God for birthing you to become this.
Your legs wobble when you walk.
It looks like they could cave in at any time,
Causing you to collapse, helplessly
Lying on the floor.
If you hadn't become so resigned to your discouragement,
So engulfed in the utter disappointment you have for your failing limbs,
People might feel bad for you,
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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I Opened The Door For Death...
I Opened The Door For Death
Invited Him In Like A Guest
He Sat Across From My Soul
I Shivered From Feeling Cold
His Face Was Shadowed & Cloaked
His Expression Was Closed As He Spoke
“I’m Glad You Let Me In …”
He Said Softly, Like A Long-Lost Friend
He Said, “I Came To Bring You A Gift
Something To Make Your Spirit Lift
For You’ve Been In So Much Pain! ”
He Sympathetically Exclaimed
“But I Can Make It All Go Away
… Just Take My Hand Today”
And He Held Out A Mirage-Like Hand
It Was Pale, But Blood-Red Drops Ran …
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poem by MoonBee Canady
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The Lady in the Tower
Some years long since, though best forgot
I travelled to a country squire,
I'd not seen him since Grammar School
We'd shared those years of learning, dire!
But as young men we'd grown apart
For he had titles, grounds to claim
While I was just a journeyman,
My friend, his name was Daniel Crane.
He owned most of the Bailiwick
And lived alone in quiet content,
His home was known as Motte House
The moat as dry as tongues in Lent,
The carriage took me to his step
Where he had waited long for me,
And we had laughed in merriment
Old friends, to see how changed were we.
The house, a rambling Tudor style
Had more rooms than a grand hotel,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Lily's Menagerie
THERE'S no menagerie, I vow,
Excels my Lily's at this minute;
She keeps the strangest creatures in it,
And catches them, she knows not how.
Oh, how they hop, and run, and rave,
And their clipp'd pinions wildly wave,--
Poor princes, who must all endure
The pangs of love that nought can cure.
What is the fairy's name?--Is't Lily?--Ask not me!
Give thanks to Heaven if she's unknown to thee.
Oh what a cackling, what a shrieking,
When near the door she takes her stand,
With her food-basket in her hand!
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poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Lightning Jack
The air was still, the eve was chill
And the Elders forecast rain,
They looked to the distant rolling hills
At the ominous cloud that came,
The doors and shutters of cottage folk
Were slammed and barred in the dark,
With the first of the lightning forking down
On its way to the village of Stark.
A figure stood at the crossroads there,
And stared at the cloud in dread,
His boots were muddied, his topcoat wet
And his hat just drooped on his head,
With thunder rumbling like a growl
At the back of the Devil's throat,
The figure dropped to his knees and howled,
In a long and a high pitched note.
The crossroad gibbet was made of oak,
Had carried a hundred moans,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Waggoner - Canto Third
RIGHT gladly had the horses stirred,
When they the wished-for greeting heard,
The whip's loud notice from the door,
That they were free to move once more.
You think, those doings must have bred
In them disheartening doubts and dread;
No, not a horse of all the eight,
Although it be a moonless night,
Fears either for himself or freight;
For this they know (and let it hide,
In part, the offences of their guide)
That Benjamin, with clouded brains,
Is worth the best with all their pains;
And, if they had a prayer to make,
The prayer would be that they may take
With him whatever comes in course,
The better fortune or the worse;
That no one else may have business near them,
And, drunk or sober, he may steer them.
So, forth in dauntless mood they fare,
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poem by William Wordsworth
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The Battle of Sempach
'Twas when among our linden-trees
The bees had housed in swarms,
(And grey-hair'd peasants say that these
Betoken foreign arms),
Then look'd we down to Willisow,
The land was all in flame;
We knew the Archduke Leopold
With all his army came.
The Austrian nobles made their vow,
So hot their heart and bold,
'On Switzer carles we'll trample now,
And slay both young and old.'
With clarion loud, and banner proud,
From Zurich on the lake,
In martial pomp and fair array,
Their onward march they make.
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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Wolf
A cruel Jack Frost blows icy floss
(in front of spring a' burstin')
While swirlin' sheaves of withered leaves,
near freezin' streams a' thirstin'.
A pack reviled is roamin' wild,
a wakin' wolf is howlin',
He scents a lean and lonesome scene,
while on the lurk and prowlin'.
With spangled bolts, white clouds revolt,
and starry skies start closin';
A wild goose soars beyond death's doors,
the naked moon sits posin';
Electric shafts (on fractured rafts)
sail night's cathedral caldrons -
A frenzied burst, the herd's dispersed
in random splayed and sprawled runs.
A she-wolf's eyes with famine cry,
the ancient wolf is bayin',
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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The Waggoner - Canto Second
IF Wytheburn's modest House of prayer,
As lowly as the lowliest dwelling,
Had, with its belfry's humble stock,
A little pair that hang in air,
Been mistress also of a clock,
(And one, too, not in crazy plight)
Twelve strokes that clock would have been telling
Under the brow of old Helvellyn--
Its bead-roll of midnight,
Then, when the Hero of my tale
Was passing by, and, down the vale
(The vale now silent, hushed I ween
As if a storm had never been)
Proceeding with a mind at ease;
While the old Familiar of the seas,
Intent to use his utmost haste,
Gained ground upon the Waggon fast,
And gives another lusty cheer;
For spite of rumbling of the wheels,
A welcome greeting he can hear;--
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poem by William Wordsworth
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The Peasent's Confession
"Si le maréchal Grouchy avait été rejoint par l'officier que
Napoléon lui avait expédié la veille à dix heures du soir, toute
question eût disparu. Mais cet officier n'était point parvenu à sa
destination, ainsi que le maréchal n'a cessé de l'affirmer toute sa
vie, et il faut l'en croire, car autrement il n'aurait eu aucune
raison pour hésiter. Cet officier avait-il été pris? avait-il passé à
l'ennemi? C'est ce qu'on a toujours ignoré."
--Thiers: Histoire de l'Empire. "Waterloo."
GOOD Father!... 'Twas an eve in middle June,
And war was waged anew
By great Napoleon, who for years had strewn
Men's bones all Europe through.
Three nights ere this, with columned corps he'd crossed
The Sambre at Charleroi,
To move on Brussels, where the English host
Dallied in Parc and Bois.
The yestertide we'd heard the gloomy gun
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poem by Thomas Hardy
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