The silver rain, The shining sun, The fields where scarlet poppies run And all the ripples of the wheat Are in the bread that we do eat So when we sit for every meal And say a grace we often feel That we are eating rain and sun And fields where scarlet poppies run
I used this when I was teaching about food chains. We talked about the ingredients in bread, what they were, where they grew, etc. and then actually made bread. It is also a neat way to show children how all things are inter woven like fabric!
Where is Thumbkin, Where is Thumbkin? (hands behind your back) Here I am-(bring one hand out with thumb point up) Here I am-(do the same with other hand) How are you today, sir? (wiggle one thumb to show that is the thumb talking) Very well, I thank you. (wiggle other thumb) Run a-way (put one hand behind your back) Run a-way (put other hand behind your back)
Continue with each finger, I've never done it with 'middle', I do it with Thumbkin, Pointer, Ringkin and Pinkie.
(to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic")
We have broken all the blackboards so the teachers cannot write. We have painted all the toilets black and all the lockers white.
We have torn up all the math books and we’ve locked the school’s front door. There won’t be school no more.
Glory, glory hallelujah! School is closed now, what’s it to ya? There won’t be no more homework and there won’t be no more tests. There won’t be school no more.
I enjoy fun poetry and found this in a book that my son has titled, "No more homwork, No more tests".
Buttercups and daisies- Oh the pretty flowers, Coming ere the springtime To tell of sunny hours. While the trees are leafless, While the fields are bare, Buttercups and daisies Spring up here and there.
Ere the snowdrop peepeth, Ere the croscus bold, Ere the early primrose Opes its paly gold, Somewhere on a sunny bank Buttercups are bright; Somewhere 'mong the frozen grass Peeps the daisy white.
Little hardy flowers Like to children poor, Playing in their sturdy health By their mother's door: Purple with the north wind, Yet alert and bold; Fearing not and caring not, Though they be a-cold.
What to them is weather! What are stormy showers! Buttercups and daisies Are these human flowers! He who gave them hardship And a life of care, Gave them likewise hardy strength, And patient hearts, to bear.
Welcome yellow buttercups, Welcome daisies white, Ye are in my spirit Visioned, a delight! Coming ere the springtime Of sunny hours to tell- Speaking to our hearts of Him Who doeth all things well.
Let us take our baskets early To the meadows green, While the wild-flowers still are pearly With the dewdrops' sheen. Fill them full of blossoms rosy, Violets and gay Cowslips, every pretty posy Welcoming the May. Then our lovely loads we'll carry Down the village street, On each door, with laughter merry, Hang a basket sweet. Hey-a-day-day! It is spring now, Lazy folks, awake! See the pretty things we bring now For the May Day's sake!
'But I must gather knots of flowers, And buds and garlands gay, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.' - Alfred Lord Tennyson
Of all the hours of day or night Give me the twilight hour, When little birds hide out of sight And every sylvan bower Is filled with their sweet good night song, While darkness creeps apace O'er all the bright blue sky along And hides the sun's gold face.
That is the hour when Mother dear Says, "Come, sweetheart," to me, "And of the earth's great heroes hear While sitting on my knee." Upon her arm I rest my hand And wondrous stories hear, Until it's time to go to bed, Tucked in by Mother dear.
"The country ever has a lagging Spring, Waiting for May to call its violets forth, And June its roses--showers and sunshine bring, Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth; To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, And one by one the singing-birds come back.
Within the city's bounds the time of flowers Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day, Such as full often, for a few bright hours, Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May, Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom-- And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom."
In honor of Mother's Day in May, I give you all this poem.
Somebody's Mother
by Mary Dow Brine
The woman was old and ragged and gray And bent with the chill of the winter's day. The street was wet with the recent snow, And the woman's feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long Alone, uncared for, amid the throng Of human beings who passed her by, Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street with laughter and shout. Glad in the freedom of "school let out," Came the boys like a flock of sheep, Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray Hastened the children on their way, Nor offered a helping hand to her, So meek, so timid, afraid to stir, Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop, The gayest laddie of all the group; He paused beside her and whispered low, "I'll help you across if you wish to go."
Her aged hand on his strong young arm She placed, and so, without hurt or harm, He guided her trembling feet along, Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went, His young heart happy and well content. "She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, For all she's aged and poor and slow;
"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand To help my mother, you understand, If ever she's poor and old and gray, When her own dear boy is far away."
And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head In her home that night, and the prayer she said Was, "God be kind to the noble boy Who is somebody's son and pride and joy."
17 comments:
Jennifer Stevens
May Poem
Due: Sept. 28
The Silver Rain
Anononymous
The silver rain,
The shining sun,
The fields where scarlet poppies run
And all the ripples of the wheat
Are in the bread that we do eat
So when we sit for every meal
And say a grace we often feel
That we are eating rain and sun
And fields where scarlet poppies run
I used this when I was teaching about food chains. We talked about the ingredients in bread, what they were, where they grew, etc. and then actually made bread. It is also a neat way to show children how all things are inter woven like fabric!
Where is Thumbkin.
I do not know the author
Sung to Frara Jaqua
Where is Thumbkin, Where is Thumbkin? (hands behind your back)
Here I am-(bring one hand out with thumb point up)
Here I am-(do the same with other hand)
How are you today, sir?
(wiggle one thumb to show that is the thumb talking)
Very well, I thank you.
(wiggle other thumb)
Run a-way (put one hand behind your back)
Run a-way (put other hand behind your back)
Continue with each finger, I've never done it with 'middle', I do it with Thumbkin, Pointer, Ringkin and Pinkie.
jacques
Jacque Schawe
May Poem
Due: Sept.28
May Baskets
by Evaleen Stein
Let us take our baskets early
To the meadows green,
While the wild-flowers still are pearly
With the dewdrops' sheen.
Fill them full of blossoms rosy,
Violets and gay
Cowslips, every pretty posy
Welcoming the May.
Then our lovely loads we'll carry
Down the village street,
On each door, with laughter merry,
Hang a basket sweet.
Hey-a-day-day! It is spring now,
Lazy folks, awake!
See the pretty things we bring now
For the May Day's sake!
May Flowers:
Did You Know?
Pink, blue, orange and white,
Even the color of the night.
Smell them, pick them, watch them grow,
May flowers are blooming you know!
Class Dismissed
by Bruce Lansky
(to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic")
We have broken all the blackboards
so the teachers cannot write.
We have painted all the toilets black
and all the lockers white.
We have torn up all the math books
and we’ve locked the school’s front door.
There won’t be school no more.
Glory, glory hallelujah!
School is closed now, what’s it to ya?
There won’t be no more homework
and there won’t be no more tests.
There won’t be school no more.
I enjoy fun poetry and found this in a book that my son has titled,
"No more homwork, No more tests".
Buttercups and Daisies
By Mary Howitt
Buttercups and daisies-
Oh the pretty flowers,
Coming ere the springtime
To tell of sunny hours.
While the trees are leafless,
While the fields are bare,
Buttercups and daisies
Spring up here and there.
Ere the snowdrop peepeth,
Ere the croscus bold,
Ere the early primrose
Opes its paly gold,
Somewhere on a sunny bank
Buttercups are bright;
Somewhere 'mong the frozen grass
Peeps the daisy white.
Little hardy flowers
Like to children poor,
Playing in their sturdy health
By their mother's door:
Purple with the north wind,
Yet alert and bold;
Fearing not and caring not,
Though they be a-cold.
What to them is weather!
What are stormy showers!
Buttercups and daisies
Are these human flowers!
He who gave them hardship
And a life of care,
Gave them likewise hardy strength,
And patient hearts, to bear.
Welcome yellow buttercups,
Welcome daisies white,
Ye are in my spirit
Visioned, a delight!
Coming ere the springtime
Of sunny hours to tell-
Speaking to our hearts of Him
Who doeth all things well.
May Baskets
by Evaleen Stein
Let us take our baskets early
To the meadows green,
While the wild-flowers still are pearly
With the dewdrops' sheen.
Fill them full of blossoms rosy,
Violets and gay
Cowslips, every pretty posy
Welcoming the May.
Then our lovely loads we'll carry
Down the village street,
On each door, with laughter merry,
Hang a basket sweet.
Hey-a-day-day! It is spring now,
Lazy folks, awake!
See the pretty things we bring now
For the May Day's sake!
May Poem
Alison Miller
'But I must gather knots of flowers,
And buds and garlands gay,
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother,
I'm to be Queen o' the May.'
- Alfred Lord Tennyson
Twilight
by Winifred Sackville Stoner, Jr.
Of all the hours of day or night
Give me the twilight hour,
When little birds hide out of sight
And every sylvan bower
Is filled with their sweet good night song,
While darkness creeps apace
O'er all the bright blue sky along
And hides the sun's gold face.
That is the hour when Mother dear
Says, "Come, sweetheart," to me,
"And of the earth's great heroes hear
While sitting on my knee."
Upon her arm I rest my hand
And wondrous stories hear,
Until it's time to go to bed,
Tucked in by Mother dear.
MOTHER'S ARE THE SWEETEST
by Nick Gordon
Our mother is the sweetest and
Most delicate of all.
She knows more of paradise
Than angels can recall.
She's not only beautiful
But passionately young,
Playful as a kid, yet wise
As one who has lived long.
Her love is like the rush of life,
A bubbling, laughing spring
That runs through all like liquid light
And makes the mountains sing.
And makes the meadows turn to flower
And trees to choicest fruit.
She is at once the field and bower
In which our hearts take root.
She is at once the sea and shore,
Our freedom and our past.
With her we launch our daring ships
Yet keep the things that last.
"The country ever has a lagging Spring,
Waiting for May to call its violets forth,
And June its roses--showers and sunshine bring,
Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;
To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,
And one by one the singing-birds come back.
Within the city's bounds the time of flowers
Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day,
Such as full often, for a few bright hours,
Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May,
Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom--
And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom."
- William Cullen Bryant, Spring in Town, 1850
Ember,
I had to tell you how much I loved your post "Class Dismissed"
I know it isn't usually done, but I had to tell you.
I love it.
In honor of Mother's Day in May, I give you all this poem.
Somebody's Mother
by Mary Dow Brine
The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the winter's day.
The street was wet with the recent snow,
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by,
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street with laughter and shout.
Glad in the freedom of "school let out,"
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way,
Nor offered a helping hand to her,
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir,
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you across if you wish to go."
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided her trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow;
"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If ever she's poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away."
And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was, "God be kind to the noble boy
Who is somebody's son and pride and joy."
My Spring Garden
Here is my little garden,
Some seeds I'm
Going to sow.
Here is my rake
To rake the ground,
Here is my handy hoe.
Here is the big
Round yellow sun,
The sun warms everything.
Here are the rain clouds
In the sky,
The birds will start to sing.
Little plants will
Wake up soon,
And lift their sleepy heads.
Little plants will
Grow and grow
From their warm earth beds.
Author Unkown
"The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.
Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May."
- Sara Teasdale, May
May-Baskets
by Evaleen Stein
Let us take our baskets early
To the meadows green,
While the wild-flowers still are pearly
With the dewdrops' sheen.
Fill them full of blossoms rosy,
Violets and gay
Cowslips, every pretty posy
Welcoming the May.
Then our lovely loads we'll carry
Down the village street,
On each door, with laughter merry,
Hang a basket sweet.
Hey-a-day-day! It is spring now,
Lazy folks, awake!
See the pretty things we bring now
For the May-day's sake!
Springtime
(to the tune of "The Muffin Man")
Springtime is garden time,
Garden time, garden time,
Get your spades and come outdoors,
Springtime is here!
Springtime is planting time,
Planting time, planting time,
Get your seeds and come outdoors,
Springtime is here!
Springtime is jumping time,
Jumping time, jumping time,
Get your ropes and come outdoors,
Springtime is here!
Springtime is singing time,
Singing time, singing time,
Children sing a happy song,
Springtime is here!
Springtime
(to the tune of "The Muffin Man")
Springtime is garden time,
Garden time, garden time,
Get your spades and come outdoors,
Springtime is here!
Springtime is planting time,
Planting time, planting time,
Get your seeds and come outdoors,
Springtime is here!
Springtime is jumping time,
Jumping time, jumping time,
Get your ropes and come outdoors,
Springtime is here!
Springtime is singing time,
Singing time, singing time,
Children sing a happy song,
Springtime is here!
http://www.canteach.ca/elementary/songspoems16.html
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