There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
- Sara Teasdale, “There Will Come Soft Rains” (via the-unfeminine-female)
and then to lie silently
like deer tracks in the
freshly-fallen snow beside
the one you love.
- Richard Brautigan, “Deer Tracks” (via the-unfeminine-female)
Oxford University students on why we need feminism
INJURED COYOTE by Kevin Russ