Again the woods are odorous, the lark
Lifts on upsoaring wings the heaven gray
That hung above the tree-tops, veiled and dark,
Where branches bare disclosed the empty day.
After long rainy afternoons an hour
Comes with its shafts of golden light and flings
Them at the windows in a radiant shower,
And rain drops beat the panes like timorous wings.
Then all is still. The stones are crooned to sleep
By the soft sound of rain that slowly dies;
And cradled in the branches, hidden deep
In each bright bud, a slumbering silence lies.
This poem gives me hope because it reminds me that the whole world is out there right now in the same position, stuck inside. I like how ts descriptive of the outside and makes you feel like your out in the world. This is hopeful for what we will see again in future when all of this chaos and mess is finally fixed.
Makaya's writing 