Wild Strawberry

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.


There Will Come Soft Rains, by Sara Teasdale


Personally, I'd like to think the turkey that's been wandering around the house lately would notice I've been missing. I'm not sure how much she'd care, but at least she'd notice. 


I believe the frogs and toads at night are the loudest they've ever been since living here. Normally, since we live next to a salt water marsh, the frog song is more distant. This year it seems like they are much closer and there are more of them. It brings back memories of living in Vermont, where we lived near a pond in the national forest and the frogs at night were really something.


It rained all day, which was obviously one inspiration for today's poem. Also, I spent some time working with a student writing couplets, so there's that too. Of course, our's were more along the lines of:

"I jump in the air and really try,
But still can never seem to fly."

You gotta start somewhere.