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Digging

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen    rests; as snug as a gun.

Under my window a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father,digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low, comes up twenty years away Stooping in rhythm through potato drills Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft Against the inside knee was levered firmly. He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep To scatter new potatoes that we picked Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade, Just like his old man.

My grandfather could cut more turf in a day Than any other man on Toner's bog. Once I carried him milk in a bottle Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up To drink it, then fell to right away Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods Over his shoulder, digging down and down For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge Through living roots awaken in my head. But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests. I'll dig with it.

-Seamus Heaney


 by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Nothing is so beautiful as spring— When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy? A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy, Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning, Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy, Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.


 Once there was a giving tree who loved a little boy. And everyday the boy would come to play Swinging from the branches, sleeping in the shade Laughing all the summer's hours away. And so they love, Oh, the tree was happy. Oh, the tree was glad.

But soon the boy grew older and one day he came and said, "Can you give me some money, tree, to buy something I've found?" "I have no money," said the tree, "Just apples, twigs and leaves." "But you can take my apples, boy, and sell them in the town." And so he did and Oh, the tree was happy. Oh, the tree was glad.

But soon again the boy came back and he said to the tree, "I'm now a man and I must have a house that's all my home." "I can't give you a house" he said, "The forest is my house." "But you may cut my branches off and build yourself a home" And so he did. Oh, the tree was happy. Oh, the tree was glad.

And time went by and the boy came back with sadness in his eyes. "My life has turned so cold," he says, "and I need sunny days." "I've nothing but my trunk," he says, "But you can cut it down And build yourself a boat and sail away." And so he did and Oh, the tree was happy. Oh, the tree was glad.

And after years the boy came back, both of them were old. "I really cannot help you if you ask for another gift." "I'm nothing but an old stump now. I'm sorry but I've nothing more to give" "I do not need very much now, just a quiet place to rest," The boy, he whispered, with a weary smile. "Well", said the tree, "An old stump is still good for that." "Come, boy", he said, "Sit down, sit down and rest a while." And so he did and Oh, the trees was happy. Oh, the tree was glad.

-Shel Silverstein

THE SUN RISING. by John Donne

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late school-boys and sour prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices ; Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams so reverend, and strong Why shouldst thou think ? I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, But that I would not lose her sight so long. If her eyes have not blinded thine, Look, and to-morrow late tell me, Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me. Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday, And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."

She's all states, and all princes I ; Nothing else is ; Princes do but play us ; compared to this, All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy. Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we, In that the world's contracted thus ; Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be To warm the world, that's done in warming us. Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ; This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.

The Big Wrap Up:

The four poem I have chosen, __Digging__, __Spring__, __The Giving Tree__, and __The Sun Rising__, all share the same main theme, and that is change. All four of these poems describe changes in life or in nature. The poem __Digging__ and the poem __The Giving Tree__ both describe the change between a boy and someone close in his life. In __Digging__ it is the poet (Shamus Heaney) describing the change he made from the traditional family digger to the original poet of the family. Whereas in __The Giving Tree__ it is a boy growing up, going through the normal changes from a boy to a teenager, to a man. The boy played, then needed money, then a house, a boat to retire, then finally a place to rest. These are two different kinds of change, __Digging__ is about changing tradition, and __The Giving Tree__ is the changes people go through in life.

The other two poems describe changes in nature. __Spring__ describes the change from winter to spring, when __The Sun Rising__ describes the change that happens when the sun rises. Both poems have new beginnings as well, during __Spring__ nature is able to bloom again and in __The Sun Rising__ people start up a new day, or beginning. The poem __The Giving Tree__ had the biggest effect on me, because I was able to reflect on what I know about the cycles of life. I realize that summarizing a boys life from a boy to a teen to a man and than an old man, is very similar to the story told in __The Giving Tree__. I helps me become aware of the changes to come, when a money and home will be my responsibility. That is why __The Giving Tree__ has the biggest effect on me. I found all four of these poems to be very useful in understanding the aspect of "Change" and I recommend for them to be read by others.