And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
– William Shakespeare
The Wood is a Stage
The wood, still, lighted brightly this day
Monochromatic 'cept the few red bud
Peaceful warm and quiet, 'cept birds at play
Brilliant cerulean backdrop o'er the wood
A curtain, cloudless; where the eagle soar
Everlasting cheep, does the red bird cheep
Little blue brook to the Jones River pour
A carpet, rust leaves, for creatures to sweep
A stage; for willing players: evermore …
– Robert Pennington Price
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