The Sunlight on the GardenThe sunlight on the gardenHardens and grows cold, We cannot cage the minuteWithin its nets of gold, When all is toldWe cannot beg for pardon. Our freedom as free lancesAdvances towards its end; The earth compels, upon itSonnets and birds descend; And soon, my friend, We shall have no time for dances. The sky was good for flyingDefying the church bellsAnd every evil ironSiren and what it tells: The earth compels, We are dying, Egypt, dyingAnd not expecting pardon, Hardened in heart anew, But glad to have sat underThunder and rain with you, And grateful tooFor sunlight on the garden.
Humanity does not suffer from the disease of wrong beliefs but humanity suffers from the contagious nature of the lack of belief. If you have no magic with you it is not because magic does not exist but it is because you do not believe in it. Even if the sun shines brightly upon your skin every day, if you do not believe in the sunlight, the sunlight for you does not exist.
The beauty of that June day was almost staggering. After the wet spring, everything that could turn green had outdone itself in greenness and everything that could even dream of blooming or blossoming was in bloom and blossom. The sunlight was a benediction. The breezes were so caressingly soft and intimate on the skin as to be embarrassing.
The cactus thrives in the desert while the fern thrives in the wetland. The fool will try to plant them in the same flowerbox. The florist will sigh and add a wall divider and proper soil to both sides. The grandparent will move the flowerbox halfway out of the sun. The child will turn it around properly so that the fern is in the shade, and not the cactus. The moral of the story?Kids are smart.