"His eyes look like they are transparent. You can see right through them to the gritty stuff inside."
He landed on the door as we were making words. We saw him, photographed him, admired him, sang to him, and then all at once, he flew away...until another day.
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The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's--he takes the lead
In summer luxury,--he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
John Keats
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's--he takes the lead
In summer luxury,--he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
John Keats
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3 comments:
How neat, post, pics, and poem.
Hugs
perfect.
Now see, this post is perfect. I never would have thought to find such a perfect poem to go w/ those wonderful pics!!
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