The loveless are the unblest

Childhood's the soul's first gala-day.

While the butter-cups toss golden heads, Consequential bees alight, Upon the downy saffron beds Of the dandelion, Fit for kings to lie on;There, a lazy butterfly, Like a thing adrift from Eden,

Here and there a cloud is floating, White and fair as a nun in prayer.

But "God was still behind the skies," As stricken Agatha once had said, And He anoints the aiming spear Of grief, and blesses the bowing head.

Sad News from France all anarchy and Confusion. The King, Queen and Royal Family confined at Paris. The Soldiers joined the People, many murdered.

I really like subtle ideas and communication with refined people who take you beyond daily chores and small sad events.