Photo & Poem Gallery

Men say they know many things;
But lo! they have taken wings, —
The arts and sciences,
And a thousand appliances;
The wind that blows
Is all that any body knows.

Pluck not the wayside flower, 
It is the traveller's dower; 
A thousand passers-by 
Its beauties may espy, 
May win a touch of blessing 
From Nature's mild caressing. 
The sad of heart perceives 
A violet under leaves 

These are amazing: each
Joining a neighbor, as though speech
Were a still performance.
Arranging by chance

To meet as far this morning
From the world as agreeing
With it, you and I
Are suddenly what the trees try

To tell us we are:

“Leave it as it is. The ages have been at work on it and man can only mar it.”

Some men never think of it.
You did.  You'd come along
And say you'd nearly brought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.

The shop was closed.  Or you had doubts-
The sort that minds like ours
Dream up incessantly.  You thought

No poem presented with this photograph.

Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
         And I will pledge with mine; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
         And I’ll not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

A memory of germination, vegetation, and abundance and a harsh symbol of the devastation of climate change. 

Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, 
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, 
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, 
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold...

I build my house of shining glass
of crystal
prisms
light and clear,
delicate. The wind blows
Sets my room to singing.
The sun’s bright rays 
are not held back
but pour their radiance through the rooms
in sparkles of delight.