Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus, 25
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one though of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim."
-From Robert Frost's A Tuft of Flowers
That poem popped into my head yesterday after Ainsley rescued a dogwood bloom in our yard. The rough winds had blown it from the tree. She scooped it up and took it inside where she begged to use my Great-Grandmother's teacup as a vase.
It's now bringing sheer morning gladness to our kitchen table.
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