Talking about poetry today with a colleague, and memories of good and bad experiences of poetry in our schooling. It made me remember discovering a poet I love, Sara Teasdale, in High School. This poem was in the back of our textbook, and we never got to it in class. I always read ahead, from sheer boredom, and found this gem. I didn’t hear a further word for the rest of that class. I merely pondered the scene this poem painted for me. Give it a read:
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools, singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.