Fides, Spes Willa Cather 1873 – 1947 Joy is come to the little Everywhere;Pink to the peach and pink to the apple, White to the pear.Stars are come to the dogwood, Astral, pale;Mists are pink on the red-bud, Veil after veil.Flutes for the feathery locusts, Soft as spray;Tongues of the lovers for chestnuts, poplars, Babbling May.Yellow plumes for the willows’ Wind-blown hair;Oak trees and sycamores only Comfortless bare.Sore from steel and the watching, Somber and old,—Wooing robes for the beeches, larches, Splashed with gold;Breath o’ love to the lilac, Warm with noon.—Great hearts cold when the little Beat mad so soon.What is their faith to bear it Till it come,Waiting with rain-cloud and swallow, Frozen, dumb?

Mentioned in this episode:

Join the mailing list to be the first to know when OPO submissions open ⬇️

🖋️ Read My Newsletter: Free Flow 🖋️