Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
I love this poem by A.E. Housman. As I approach threescore, I'd love to have as many "springs" as possible. While I've been out and about enjoying life, I'm not getting anything done in the studio. I'm optomistic that next week I'll get IT! done.