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There Will Come Soft Rains
by Sara Teasdale

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.

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☆•°*”˜☽
    ❤️✨ ђєℓℓσ
       Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵Ʒ /
       .(ړײ)/
       .«▓   
       ..╝╚..

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:-)

⋱❤ sprinkled☆.·´¯`·.☆

✿*ﾟﾟ･✿ ♥ ♥
(✿◠‿◠)  𝓗αթթƴ Ꮗɛɛƙɛɳ∂
*✿✿*ﾟﾟ♥🌼♥🌼♥🌼♥🌼♥
𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴𝓼 𝓯☮𝓻 𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 ♥☮