Sunday, 25 October 2009

Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.



I love trees all the year round. At this time of year they always bring to mind that wonderful Shakespeare sonnet:

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

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