Newsletter

There’s none less free than who
Does nothing and has nothing else to do

Against the bridal day, which was not long:
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song

The birds, the fountains & the Ocean hold
Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes

“Which seed shall prosper thou shalt never know.”

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;