HOW CAN I BE SURE I WILL SEE AGAIN?
I love this little poem by Sara Teasdale, 1884 –1933. A poem that is one hundred years old, stretching across the century to tell us of the precariousness nature of humanity. Yet still we hear her voice. Love Susie. x
May Day
A delicate fabric of bird song
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere.
Red small leaves of the maple
Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
The pear trees stand.
Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;
For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
Shining after the rain?
Sara Teasdale 1884 –1933