They who prepare my evening meal below <br />Carelessly hit the kettle as they go <br />With tongs or shovel, <br />And ringing round and round, <br />Out of this hovel <br />It makes an eastern temple by the sound. <br /> <br />At first I thought a cow bell right at hand <br />Mid birches sounded o'er the open land, <br />Where I plucked flowers <br />Many years ago, <br />Spending midsummer hours <br />With such secure delight they hardly seemed to flow.<br /><br />Henry David Thoreau<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/they-who-prepare-my-evening-meal-below/
