PLUM MOON 2026
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 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.
- Sara TeasdaleThere will come soft rains, and the music of a world untouched by our hands. Wild plum trees will shiver awake beneath a milk-white moon, their blossoms luminous against the wet black branches, the sweet promise of their dark fruits mingling with the scent of rain-darkened earth. Somewhere in the distance, frogs sing from still pools and owls sing their songs into the night, heedless of what has passed.