Good morning!  It's Sunday, and time for a really great cup of coffee and a good book.  My house is clean (see yesterday's post!) and I've earned the right to play a little today.  I have some cross stitch designs and a quilt runner that are calling my name and a stack of books on my desk that I haven't had time to start yet...hmm, what to do first?!  Because of this summer's drought, leaves are turning color faster than usual, and also starting to drop earlier than normal.  I hope we have time to enjoy the fall colors before the trees all become bare ruined choirs!  The rest of Will's poem is a tad depressing (who needs reminders of our own mortality--looking in the mirror in the morning is enough of a shock!) but I love the imagery at the beginning of his poem.  I hope you do too.

That Time of Year

William Shakespeare

 

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals all up in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 

Have a restful Sunday!