English: Old Town of Verona seen from the hill. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Afternoon On A Hill

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down! ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

Falling Asleep To The Sound of Rain http://www.8tracks.com

It has been raining all day and I’ve slept for most of it. Before I head back to bed, I thought that I’d post this poem–so appropriate for the day.

Rainy Days Are Sleepy Days

Rainy day, all curled up in bed.
So warm, soft, comfy.
The world is quiet, sometimes silent.
Stopped almost by magic.
The rhythmic sound of rain.
Soothes the mind.
No need to think, to compute.
Just listen, close your eyes.
And the patterns become clear.
Seemingly random yet in a beautiful symphony.
Harmony that can only be understood not thinking.
Just hearing and knowing the renewal,
The refreshing, the cleansing of the world beyond.

Close your eyes,
Breathe in the cool scent of rain.
Hear the lullaby of nature.
Close your eyes,
Understand the melody.
Not thinking but knowing.
And so you sleep….  ~ David Tan

A European honey bee (Apis mellifera) extracts nectar from an Aster flower using its proboscis. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Any Soul That Drank The Nectar

Any soul that drank the nectar of your passion was lifted.
From that water of life he is in a state of elation.
Death came, smelled me, and sensed your fragrance instead.
From then on, death lost all hope of me.  ~ Rumi

From http://www.thejaggedword.com

Caged Bird

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom. ~ Maya Angelou