He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
All wholesome food is caught without a net or a trap.
Bring out number weight & measure in a year of dearth.
No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.
The hours of folly are measur'd by the clock, but of wisdom: no clock can measure.
Perhaps you've posted this poem a previous time, maybe even last year on Sept. 1st, but I thought you'd appreciate the poem, "September 1, 1939," by W.H. Auden. I hope the link works: http://www.poemdujour.com/Sept1.1939.html.
ReplyDeleteNo never did post this one, Teresa. Thanks for the link and the site. A momentous poem for a momentous time. I like the Steven Wright search engine they have as well. :)
ReplyDeleteI can always count on Steven for comic relief.
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