Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure…
-William Wordsworth
For you, my dear! I have to borrow words!
Oh, lovely!!! At least you borrow the best!!! xoxoxo