Flower power
“By the meadow, she stood,
While he tenderly wooed.”
© schwarzkopfnonne
I'm Justin! I play the saxophone. I'm a big dweeb. I like classical music, gay things, productivity, positivity, old books, art, anything vintage, rainy days, and flowers!
“By the meadow, she stood,
While he tenderly wooed.”
© schwarzkopfnonne
Anyone who says you can’t give flowers to boys clearly hasn’t tried it. Seriously, give a boy some roses, they get adorably flustered and go all red. It’s the most precious thing.
Give more boys flowers.
🌹🌼🌻🌸🌷🌺💐
crush stereotypes now
we love flowers. give us flowers.
There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
“Shall I have nought that is fair?“ saith he;
“Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.”
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise,
He bound them in his sheaves.
“My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,”
The Reaper said, and smiled;
“Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.”
“They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.”
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again,
In the fields of light above.
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
‘Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
- by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Anonymous asked:
Thank you very much ! I love the flowers in my hair also 🌸
*plants flowers on your dash in hopes of soaking up any negativity*
🌷🌼🌸💐🌹🌺🌾🌻
Dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because the regret is stronger than gratitude.
.. she longed to go alone far into the fields and hear the birds singing, the brooks tinkling and the wind rustling through the corn, as she had when a child. To smell things and touch things, warm earth and flowers and grasses and to stand and gaze where no one could see her, drinking it all in.
A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.
