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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.

    ¸¸.•¨¯`💜.•´´*•🦋
(¯`♥´¯) .♥.•*¨`*•♥
`*.¸.*´ϚքɾìղҟӀҽժ 💗
       🐰
Mousie, TQ!

Splashed

    ¸¸.•¨¯`💜.•´´*•🦋
(¯`♥´¯) .♥.•*¨`*•♥
`*.¸.*´ϚքɾìղҟӀҽժ 💗
       🐰
Thanks for the mousie  :)

ღ.🌸
  🌸(ྀ🌸               
  .ི৲( Thanks for visiting our garden!! Just peeking if nothing is due

    ¸¸.•¨¯`💜.•´´*•🦋
(¯`♥´¯) .♥.•*¨`*•♥
`*.¸.*´ϚքɾìղҟӀҽժ 💗
       🐰
Mousie, TQ!

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(      ☆⭐️* Thank you for visiting! 🌟*´
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