Fireplace poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best Fireplace poems ever written. Read all poems about Fireplace.
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Gone are the days
when you could walk on water.
When you could walk.
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
In Baltimore there lived a boy.
He wasn't anybody's joy.
Although his name was Jabez Dawes,
His character was full of flaws. In school he never led his classes,
Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day,
I paused and said, "I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther -- and we shall see."
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
Should I get married? Should I be Good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustaus hood?
SURELY among a rich man s flowering lawns,
Amid the rustle of his planted hills,
Life overflows without ambitious pains;
And rains down life until the basin spills,
Young Croesus went to pay his call
On Colonel Sawbones, Caxton Hall:
And, though his wound was healed and mended,
He hoped he’d get his leave extended.
As night fell and the light glittered in the great house, the servants stood at the massive door awaiting the coming of the guests; and upon their velvet garments shown golden buttons.
The news we received wasn't tragic…wasn't the worst news we've ever had…still…hearing our fireplace couldn't be used anymore left us feeling sad.
For over 30 years whenever the weather turned cold we had a fire burning there…the sad news wasn't just that she was broken…but she'll cost too much too repair.
You've stolen the words
I've been trying to write in vain
Empty sheets wet by the tears
of those left to die in the rain
the hearth, the place where tapestries of memories
were woven by unknown hands, weaving truths
and loose lies covered over by colored threads.
That place where anger entered the threshold
The first night was to prove to us there were special times ahead
When we lit a 3 hour log in our fireplace before we went to bed.
We all slept soundly comforted by our dreams, not much tossing…not much turning
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