This blog is but a pauper attempt to honour the eternal and unimpaired beauty of existence. It is as deeply as yours, an incommensurable part of that faultless whole.
Thank you for the kind words.
the poet muse
Softly lulled the eves
The song-tired birds to sleep,
That other things might tell
The beetle humming neath the fallen leaves
Deep in what hollow do the stern gods keep
Their bitter silence? By what listening well
Where holy trees,
Song-set, unfurl eternally the sheen
Of restless green?
- Summer Past (To Oscar Wilde), John Gray (2 March 1866 – 14 June 1934)