It is the same life that emerges in joy through the dust of the earth into numberless waves of flower.

We can make a little order where we are, and then the big sweep of history on which we can have no effect doesn't overwhelm us. We do it with colors, with a garden, with the furnishings of a room, or with sounds and words. We make a little form, and we gain composure.

The way a crow Shook down on me. The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood. And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening.

Leave out my name from the gift if it be a burden, but keep my song.

Clouds come floating into my life from other days no longer to shed rain or usher storm but to give colour to my sunset sky.