There Will Come Soft Rains

Unknown

There Will Come Soft Rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,

And swallows calling 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

  This poem is happening now. I was just outside in the rain and I did smell the wet earth. "There will come soft rains..." A gentle, comforting line. Especially now, locked away from my usual life, crowded in together with my dearest-yet-difficult, having had to change my routine, and take on new and ill-fitting roles - "There will come soft rains.." A promise that came true. And how lovely the rain is. What a relief to think of Spring and all her creatures going about their usual business without noticing us and our worries or wars. They go on singing, growing, calling, whistling, flying, crawling. It helps somehow, to think of them. "There will come soft rains..." 
I'm going to take that as permission to hope for good things to come.