This poem reflects the
contemplative mood I was in while
stuck in traffic in a nearby community
on this hot and sticky June morning.
I have come to appreciate
living in a rural place, where
I can wake up in the morning to the
sound of the birds singing sweetly
in the trees, and watch unhindered,
the advance of the stars across the heavens
at night, or sit on my front steps and
listen to the frogs down on the lake
singing their love songs to each other
beneath the rising moon.
It seems to me I'd like to go
Where bells don't ring, nor whistles blow,
Nor clocks don't strike, nor gongs sound,
And I'd have stillness all around.
Not real stillness, but just the trees,
Low whispering, or the hum of bees,
Or brooks faint babbling over stones,
In strangely, softly tangled tones.
Or maybe a cricket or katydid,
Or the songs of birds in the hedges hid,
Or just some such sweet sound as these,
To fill a tired heart with ease.
If 'tweren't for sight and sound and smell,
I'd like the city pretty well,
But when it comes to getting rest,
I like the country lots the best.
Sometimes it seems to me I must
Just quit the city's din and dust,
And get out where the sky is blue,
And say, now, how does it seem to you?
Pretty yellow-petaled Black-Eyed Susan is
my favorite of all the summer wildflowers