
DAILY PHOTO: Taiwan by Night
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Morning Glories sit,
coolly, in the shadow of
Mexican Sunflowers.




I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose busom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
There is nothing that I hope everyone would say about me. I would wish friends to say, "He's tolerable in the right dose." I would wish my enemies to say "He's a mean sonofabitch." I would wish those who don't know me to keep their mouths' shut about me. I would hope salesmen and missionaries would say, "He's the kind of guy whose door is not worth knocking on."

a cormorant weaves
into and over water:
no trace but ripples.
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
thou answerest
them only with
spring)
What is something others do that sparks your admiration?
Give anonymously and without expectation of having something named after them or gaining publicity.