Little Voices

E is for...

an eclectic mix of evening entries.

First, some pictures taken in the early evening after a fresh snowfall:

We step back in time to see the Agastache bush on the right in the above photo in early evening at the height of summer:

Finally, a poem conjuring up the evening:

THE ECHOING GREEN

The Sun does arise,

And make happy the skies;

The merry bells ring

To welcome the Spring;

The skylark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,

Sing louder around

To the bells' chearful sound,

While our sports shall be seen

On the Echoing Green.

Old John, with white hair,

Does laugh away care,

Sitting under the oak,

Among the old folk.

They laugh at our play,

And soon they all say:

'Such, such were the joys

'When we all, girls and boys,

'In our youth time were seen

'On the Echoing Green.'

Till the little ones, weary,

No more can be merry;

The sun does descend,

And our sports have an end.

Round the laps of their mothers

Many sisters and brothers,

Like the birds in their nest,

Are ready for rest,

And sport no more seen

On the darkening Green.

William Blake