There is a pretty red wagon sitting in our yard. The red wagon belongs to my neighbors children. I will call them about the wagon tomorrow. They will be happy to hear that their wagon is safe
the horse has the hard weighing of the wagon on its shoulders, as it moves through the hot weather in the middle of cairo, the wagon digging into the soft and furry coat of the light brown horse
If I sit on a wagon, you can push me. You can pull me. Bring me in whatever direction you please.
But I am not on a wagon. I’m on a flying carpet. Free to come and go with the wind. Hold on to the thread I leave behind, for it may be the only thing you can keep of me.
The tired wheel, splinters for sweat
seemed to him an ancient thing
a forgotten circumference
with a dated diameter
with less than half radius
spindles stretching out to a space
no longer there
The covered wagon squeaked on its old wheels, the wind carrying the cover up, showing a bit of the treasures hidden within. It had been weeks since they left home, and while they never lost hope, it was getting harder each day to form a smile. After all, they’d left everything behind, and all they had was the hope that something better waited for them at the end of their journey.
wagon was the word yesterday. why am i writing about it again? when i was a kid i used to say that i was so hungry i would eat a wagon wheel. and then one time my friend’s mother took me to her parents house where they had a wagon wheel in the front yard and said, “okay, go for it.” i laughed so hard i peed my pants.
wagon – makes me think of radio flyer litlle red wagons carrying things and rolling down hill – covered wagon going west little house on the prairie and attacks by indians a farm cart carrying produce to the market mostly though a little red wagon leaning against my garage that my kids used to cart each other around and get pumpkins from Farbotniks
is pulled along by horses.like a cart for people to sit in.the mormons often used them..and cowboys..and most people back in the olden days..theres also wagon wheels which is a chocolate biscuit
The wagon bumped along the old crooked road, certain for nowhere. She sat in the back – lost, desolate – without a friend in the world. He had told her starting somewhere new would be difficult, in fact, she knew it all too well. This did not change the knot in her stomach, the sweat on her palms, and the stone in her heart.
Everyone has the new iThing. Why don’t you have one? Get your iThing now. iThing, iThing, iThing. Just as slim and glossy as advertised. Everyone wants an iThing. But, wait! No one wants an iThing anymore. Have you not heard of the iThing 2? Now one percent slimmer and one percent glossier.
Shame on you, not hopping on the bandwagon like that.
What a weird scent, she mused, coming from the pile covered by a black cloth in the wooden wagon driven by the aged, cloaked man.
(She assumed it was a man, of course, because he lacked the assets to be a woman)
Quickly, her mother told her to close the door.
“Keep death out, Charlotte dear.”
Charlotte closed the door quickly. The last thing she wanted was the plague killing the rest of her family, mama and Louis were all she had left.
She knelt and prayed a silent prayer, hoping that God would protect her and what was left of her family from the plague that would be later known as the Black Death.
there was a wagon who had one wheel. He didn’t like the way it made him feel. So he began to sing songs to passers by. And with their tips he began to fly. His thoughts allowed him to soar and earn the wheels he dreamed for.
it’s the back end,
the part where car meets grocery getter.
it’s wheels are made of wood
and got settlers from the east
to see what the Pacific looks like.
it’s red,
and classic,
and can carry at least two kids
who pretend it’s
the fastest car on the planet
or a space ship to the moon.
I have never had a wagon, at least that I can remember. A lot of kids have a classic little red wagon, but I have never even known someone who has had a wagon of any sort.
A wagon is used to carry loads, like a cartwheel. People use wagons basically for construction purposes to carry around building materials. You can load them and drag them around as they have wheels. to fall off the wagon is to start drinking again, this is an age old saying.
I already jumped the wagon! I’m ready for a new wagon to pull, this one’s worrisome and heavy. I want one with greased wheels, just enough space, an optional top cover for when it rains, and my own personal paint job.
The wagon trotted along the worn path. I sat in the back carriage, under a blanket, thinking about everything we had left behind, and dreading the coming weeks. The reason for our move still evaded me, and I had no idea why we couldn’t just turn back.
I remember pulling my sister around in a wawgon. I think it was when I was 7 or 8 years old. She was four. I wonder if she remembers that. It was red, of course. It was old. Antique, even. I’m sure my mom dug it up somewhere. It was kind of symbolic.
The wagon train eked its way across the grassy plain, cutting the sod so deeply that the scars still remain. I always feel so ambivalent about western expansion, proud of the drive and sad at the loss.
little red wagon. little house on the prairie, that little wagon they rode in.
But mostly i think of little red wagon. I think of a little girl, dragging the wagon with her chubby little hand grasping the handle like her life depends on it. There is a dog, a doll, a little sibling, something sitting in the wagon, and she drags it to some unknown place, desperate to get there as soon as she can. Her brow furrows in concentration, and she forgets about every ant she is running over, all the twigs she is crushing, forgets to pick up all the shiny rocks she would usually stop and pick up. For her, everything that glitters is gold, but today, all that she focuses on is that little red wagon.
There is a pretty red wagon sitting in our yard. The red wagon belongs to my neighbors children. I will call them about the wagon tomorrow. They will be happy to hear that their wagon is safe
the horse has the hard weighing of the wagon on its shoulders, as it moves through the hot weather in the middle of cairo, the wagon digging into the soft and furry coat of the light brown horse
If I sit on a wagon, you can push me. You can pull me. Bring me in whatever direction you please.
But I am not on a wagon. I’m on a flying carpet. Free to come and go with the wind. Hold on to the thread I leave behind, for it may be the only thing you can keep of me.
i had a wagon that shot into the blue
i had a wagon that shot into the blue
when it got there it shot in 2!
it shot in 2.
This wagon is red and wooden. It has a metal and black handle. I love to ride in it.
i have a wagon. i love to play with my wagon. my wagon is red. i use my wagon to push my baby doll. she loves being pushed in my wagon.
big carrys people pulled by things ushily brown 4 wheels somtimes full of hay
wagen is fun to ride in,and is
The red wagon sat lonely and rusting in the field. Over the years it was left to its own doom in the sadness wind sun and snow.
You can put leaves in a wagon. You can put your puppy in a wagon. You can haul kids around. You can pull a wagon.
The tired wheel, splinters for sweat
seemed to him an ancient thing
a forgotten circumference
with a dated diameter
with less than half radius
spindles stretching out to a space
no longer there
pinoeers
cattle
horses
great plains
dust bowl
dying
traveling
mormons
trek
west
brown
it’s like a vagon. driving along the road. simply just lovely. I hope this site dies…
The covered wagon squeaked on its old wheels, the wind carrying the cover up, showing a bit of the treasures hidden within. It had been weeks since they left home, and while they never lost hope, it was getting harder each day to form a smile. After all, they’d left everything behind, and all they had was the hope that something better waited for them at the end of their journey.
wagon was the word yesterday. why am i writing about it again? when i was a kid i used to say that i was so hungry i would eat a wagon wheel. and then one time my friend’s mother took me to her parents house where they had a wagon wheel in the front yard and said, “okay, go for it.” i laughed so hard i peed my pants.
wagon – makes me think of radio flyer litlle red wagons carrying things and rolling down hill – covered wagon going west little house on the prairie and attacks by indians a farm cart carrying produce to the market mostly though a little red wagon leaning against my garage that my kids used to cart each other around and get pumpkins from Farbotniks
is pulled along by horses.like a cart for people to sit in.the mormons often used them..and cowboys..and most people back in the olden days..theres also wagon wheels which is a chocolate biscuit
The wagon bumped along the old crooked road, certain for nowhere. She sat in the back – lost, desolate – without a friend in the world. He had told her starting somewhere new would be difficult, in fact, she knew it all too well. This did not change the knot in her stomach, the sweat on her palms, and the stone in her heart.
Everyone has the new iThing. Why don’t you have one? Get your iThing now. iThing, iThing, iThing. Just as slim and glossy as advertised. Everyone wants an iThing. But, wait! No one wants an iThing anymore. Have you not heard of the iThing 2? Now one percent slimmer and one percent glossier.
Shame on you, not hopping on the bandwagon like that.
Wood.
Disgusted, she stared at it.
What a weird scent, she mused, coming from the pile covered by a black cloth in the wooden wagon driven by the aged, cloaked man.
(She assumed it was a man, of course, because he lacked the assets to be a woman)
Quickly, her mother told her to close the door.
“Keep death out, Charlotte dear.”
Charlotte closed the door quickly. The last thing she wanted was the plague killing the rest of her family, mama and Louis were all she had left.
She knelt and prayed a silent prayer, hoping that God would protect her and what was left of her family from the plague that would be later known as the Black Death.
there was a wagon who had one wheel. He didn’t like the way it made him feel. So he began to sing songs to passers by. And with their tips he began to fly. His thoughts allowed him to soar and earn the wheels he dreamed for.
it’s the back end,
the part where car meets grocery getter.
it’s wheels are made of wood
and got settlers from the east
to see what the Pacific looks like.
it’s red,
and classic,
and can carry at least two kids
who pretend it’s
the fastest car on the planet
or a space ship to the moon.
I see little red wagons and big wagons sometimes.
I have never had a wagon, at least that I can remember. A lot of kids have a classic little red wagon, but I have never even known someone who has had a wagon of any sort.
A wagon is used to carry loads, like a cartwheel. People use wagons basically for construction purposes to carry around building materials. You can load them and drag them around as they have wheels. to fall off the wagon is to start drinking again, this is an age old saying.
I already jumped the wagon! I’m ready for a new wagon to pull, this one’s worrisome and heavy. I want one with greased wheels, just enough space, an optional top cover for when it rains, and my own personal paint job.
The wagon trotted along the worn path. I sat in the back carriage, under a blanket, thinking about everything we had left behind, and dreading the coming weeks. The reason for our move still evaded me, and I had no idea why we couldn’t just turn back.
I remember pulling my sister around in a wawgon. I think it was when I was 7 or 8 years old. She was four. I wonder if she remembers that. It was red, of course. It was old. Antique, even. I’m sure my mom dug it up somewhere. It was kind of symbolic.
People used wagons in the old days. If they didn’t have wagons they wouldn’t be able to travel far.
The wagon train eked its way across the grassy plain, cutting the sod so deeply that the scars still remain. I always feel so ambivalent about western expansion, proud of the drive and sad at the loss.
little red wagon. little house on the prairie, that little wagon they rode in.
But mostly i think of little red wagon. I think of a little girl, dragging the wagon with her chubby little hand grasping the handle like her life depends on it. There is a dog, a doll, a little sibling, something sitting in the wagon, and she drags it to some unknown place, desperate to get there as soon as she can. Her brow furrows in concentration, and she forgets about every ant she is running over, all the twigs she is crushing, forgets to pick up all the shiny rocks she would usually stop and pick up. For her, everything that glitters is gold, but today, all that she focuses on is that little red wagon.
You pull kids in a wagon when they can’t walk anymore. When I think about a wagon i think of a red one.