I love the season well,
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.

From the earth's loosened mould
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;
Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold,
The drooping tree revives.

The softly-warbled song
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
The forest openings.

When the bright sunset fills
The silver woods with light, the green slope throws
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,
And wide the upland glows.

And when the eve is born,
In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far,
Is hollowed out and the moon dips her horn,
And twinkles many a star.

Inverted in the tide
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw,
And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.

Sweet April! many a thought
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life's golden fruit is shed.

An April Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

We read thousands of words every day.
We may write thousands every day.
So much of the written word pales beside this
Longfellow poem, 'An April Day'.
Each word carries its own weight,
not adding to a load, but helping support the whole.

What could have been a flowery scene of effusiveness, remains as it was seen, with each word giving the reader opportunity to relish what has been offered through the eyes and heart of a master.

I sit here in awe and humility.
We are in the company of masters in so many areas;
all we have to do is click the 'ON' button.

Thank you so much, ej.
This post has made me see the morning with new eyes.