MotherReader

Apparently when almost three feet of snow melts within two weeks, you get a lot of mud. And you get that mud for an extended period of time that seems approximately forever. Not being used to this much mud, it’s been top of my mind — and bottom of my shoes — whenever I go outside. Mud. Mud. Mud.

For Poetry Friday, I found a poem that gives mud a positive spin — one that I will try very hard to keep in mind as I squish and squelch my way to school pick-up.

Mud
by Robert William Service
Mud is Beauty in the making,
Mud is melody awaking;
Laughter, leafy whisperings,
Butterflies with rainbow wings;
Baby babble, lover’s sighs,
Bobolink in lucent skies;
Ardours of heroic blood
All stem back to Matrix Mud.

(The poem continues here.)

Poetry Friday is hosted today at TeachingBooks