There Will Come Soft Rain

There will come soft rain 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 feathery 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 woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

by Sara Teasdale

Comments (3)

Mike, your poem reminds me of Gibran's ultimate defiance of grief: 'The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.' love, Alison
The spirit never dies... Enjoying the spiritual focus in your poetry, Mike, and I esp. like the fourth couplet (tho' it is tough choosing a favorite) ... A needed exhortation, this.
I am especially fond of the visual image of your enemy hammering your tears into jewelry for himself, because that is truly the way some people are - if they can bring you to your knees, then the are happy. Good write, Mike