And it seems like we all wish to recapture the innocence of Blake or the sheer rapturous joy of a Whitman carefully guiding the carriage thru the center of town neatly navigating the cobblestone streets. And why not take note of lovely lilacs that bloom in Spring when nature rejuvenates life once more? Why not be able to revel in the chitchat of telephone calls to friends and lovers? Talk for hours on end if you please. There is subtle joy to be found in such mundane matters.
We all wanna
write poems about lilacs
and telephone calls