A Red, Red Rose by Leonid (Love Poems on the Underground)

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
O I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

A Postcrosser's Ode to Margaret Rutherford, the original "Miss Marple" by revode

An amateur detective,
I've faced all kinds of crimes;
From London to the countryside,
I've solved them many times.
I use my magnifying glass
to search for every clue;
From China, France, and Canada,
Madagascar, too;
I question every subject,
interview them all,
From Sweden, Brazil, Mexico,
Italy, Nepal;
But finally I scuba-dived
Aussie's Great Barrier Reef;
and finally solved the mystery
Of my missing teeth!

Nothing to fear by magenta

I have nothing to fear.
I'm guided to live my moments,
Feeling a rush of air on my body.

When I was a little girl by Zertz

When I was a little girl, my parents had a meadow behind their house. They rented it out to a neighbour who used it as space for his horses. I loved to watch them.
Now I'm not a little girl anymore...the house belongs to me now and my parents...they built a house on the former meadow, part of a new neighbourhood. Unfortunately no place for horses anymore.

White by Emilialoves2travel

My name is White,
I enjoy dashing like a speeding light,
with my long, soft mane blowing-
I love to roll even when it is snowing!
My name is White
and my stride is always right!

Special place by beii

Country roads,
come take me to my lovely place.
A place where I belong
With horses, cattle, sheep,
chickens, hay and green fields.
That is my place, my special place.
Where I most belong.

When you are old by WB Yeats (lucky2002)

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;