Submitted by Anonymous
Much is displeasing, we learn this too soon
Old friends grow foreign, old songs out of tune
Old lovers grow distant, old passions subside
Old bodies grow weary while anguish survives.
But doesn’t it take just a spring-time breeze
The scent of the soil, the rustle of leaves
The thought of a long-passed memory
The sound of a songbird up in the trees
To show us the truth we seldom see
That beauty lies in the simplest of things?
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Photo credit: Edward Hopper Sunlight on the Brownstones