Paris Je T’Aime

  

  I really have no words this week – so I leave you with Sara Teasdale’s poem written during World War I.

There Will Come Soft Rains

Sara Teasdale, 1884 – 1933

(War Time)

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, 

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree

If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,

Would scarcely know that we were gone. 

My friend Tom Vignieri set it to music at my suggestion.

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