Spring, a need for balance, and a poem by Sara Teasdale

Good morning! Another night's fraught dream (this one just made me very sad), but a glorious dawn chorus of birds at 4 am provided balance. I have a few chores to do today, and G is getting the bees... it's spring, there's much to do, but it's not yet time to do some of it. The news is disturbing, both domestic and international. So much on my mind, so much to do... and yet, it's Sunday. I need to learn and relearn how to slow down, to rest, to be more mindful. I need to find my balance and my calm. It's warmish, and rain is in the forecast yet again. 

So, here's a poem I love, and I hope you do, too.

C

There Will Come Soft Rains

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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.

From The Language of Spring, edited by Robert Atwan, published by Beacon Press, 2003.