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 feath'ry 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 awoke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

~~ Sara Teasdale

__________________
~ Глас вопиющего в пустыне реальности... ~
Empty spaces - what are we living for? Abandoned places - I guess we know the score,
On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for?.. The show must go on...
Inside my heart is breaking, my make-up may be flaking,
But my smile still stays on - the Matrix must go on...

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