This week's Milly Jourdain poem:

The Thrush

Milly Jourdain

The pale grey light is spreading in the sky,

          And on the ground, until

I see the shining drops on grass and trees

          And all is soft and still.

The quiet earth is only half awake,

          And still breathes peacefully;

A thrush's voice fills all the waiting air

          Pure, cold as is the sea.

Not the triumphant song of spring which makes

          The wood so full of praise,

But a sweet sound, and fitful, fresh as rain,

          To lighten winter days.

Dinner tonight: lentil soup with cilantro, which I hope will cure me because I am coming down with something.