Monday, June 1, 2015

June - a poem by William Cullen Bryant

I gazed upon the glorious sky 
And the green mountains round, 
And thought that when I came to lie 
At rest within the ground, 
"Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, 
When brooks send up a cheerful tune, 
And groves a joyous sound, 
The sexton's hand, my grave to make, 
The rich, green mountain-turf should break.

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Snow day

Snow is sprinkling down and the piano fingers sprinkle the key boards in the background. Moody Friday.