Every spring i hear the thrush singing in the glowing woods he is only passing through. his voice is deep, then he lifts it until it seems to fall from the sky. i am thrilled. i am grateful. then, by the end of morning, he's gone, nothing but silence out of the tree where he rested for a night. and this i find acceptable. not enough is a poor life. but too much is, well, too much. imagine verdi or mahler every day, all day. it would exhaust anyone.
Please Wait....
Translating....
Translating....
Every Spring I Hear The Thrush Singing
Every spring i hear the thrush singing in the glowing woods he is only passing through. his voice is deep, then he lifts it until it seems to fall from the sky. i am thrilled. i am grateful. then, by the end of morning, he's gone, nothing but silence out of the tree where he rested for a night. and this i find acceptable. not enough is a poor life. but too much is, well, too much. imagine verdi or mahler every day, all day. it would exhaust anyone.
Views: 4
Cite this Page
Prevent plagiarism by providing proper attribution.
APA FORMAT
Embed this Quote
Copy this HTML code to embed the quote on your website or blog.
HTML CODE
Topic
