Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having.
Though I have been in many a land,
There is naught else in living.
And I would rather have my sweet,
Though rose-leaves die of grieving,
Than do high deeds in Hungary
To pass all men's believing.
-Ezra Pound
I don't know why I love this picture - there's sun flare and nothing is in focus, but I love the morning look of this unintentional field of yarrow that my husband leaves unmowed, despite its incursion into our lawn.
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