Weekend Assignments

Okay, so as seems to be my habit, I've spent this entire week saying "oh, I'll do it on the weekend" - which, obviously, isn't too fun when it gets to the weekend. So here I am, making a list of all the things I have to do.... and, because I have nothing better to say on here, I'll put it in my oh-so-wonderful blog.

1. Read chapters 1-13 of my french book called Le Bibliocaire Mysterieuse
2. Keep jot notes for each of those chapters and assemble into a rough book report
3. Write one page of Invinicible (at least!)
4. Analyze "Good-bye and Stay Cold" using TP CASTT
5. Write a resume
6. Write a letter explaining why I should enter highschool
7. Spend 4 hours filming a movie
8. Find some time to sleep, eat and ride my bike

Doesn't that just sound like the funnest thing ever? I have (yet another) busy weekend. But hey, it isn't impossible - and some of the stuff is even fun. Like the poem analyzation.

This is the poem I'm doing. It's by Robert Frost, probably the most famous poet of all-time (and the bestest - DON'T take Shakesphere's side on this.. Shakesphere is so overrated).

Good-bye and Keep Cold by Robert Frost (1874-1963)

This saying good-bye on the edge of dark
And cold to an orchard so young in bark
Reminds me of all that can happen to harm
And orchard away at the end of the farm
All winter, cut off by a hill from the house.
I don't want it girdled by a rabbit and mouse,
I don't want it dreamily nibbled for browse
By deer, and I don't want it budded by grouse.
(If certain it wouldn't be idle to call
I'd summon grouse, rabbit, and deer to the wall
And warn them away with a stick for a gun.)
I don't want it stirred by the heat of the sun.
(We made it secure against being, I hope,
By setting it out on a northernly slope.)
No orchard's the worse for the wintriest storm;
But one thing about it, it mustn't get warm.
"How often already you've had to be told,
Keep cold, young orchard. Good-bye and keep cold.
Dread fifty above more than fifty below."
I have to be gone for a season or so.
My buisness awhile is with different trees
Less carefully nourished, less fruitful than these,
And such as done to their wood with an axe
Maples and birches and tamaracks.
I wish I could promise to lie in the night
And think of an orchard's arboreal plight
And when slowly (and nobody comes with a light)
Its heart sinks lower under the sode
But something has to be left for God.


I love that poem... and as for my in-depth analyzation (which I may not have space to include - there is a limit on how long our stuff can be! "GASP" - inside joke) I think it's him talking about leaving his collection of partially-finished poems and etc. and going to work on something else. (It's his "Forest Of Fiction" ..haha)

Blogingly,
Sarah