A sprig or mint by the wayward brook;
A nibble of birch in the wood;
A summer day and love and a book,
And I wouldn't be king if I could.
John Vance Cheney
~
Monday, December 1, 2014
To the flowers that have not yet bloomed;
turn your face toward the sun
let the shadows fall behind you
and soak up as much blood, water and tears
as your roots and veins can hold
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