My dear child,

Even as you sit in your English class, your mind is wandering. You had just read a most delightful poem by Emily Dickinson (she is still writing such delicious verse!), and you looked out the window and thought: "Oh, how I wish the world were as lovely as a rhyme."

I too wish that all the world were a great poem: every word perfect, every syllable finding its place in the great rhythm. But even though this world is not what I had hoped for, there is something I want you to consider. While you may not find it as lovely as a Dickinsonian rhyme, it is still true.

Where there's a footfall, you'll find beauty there
Amidst the plain and ordinary things—
An empty street, a cloudless summer day,
A snowy breeze with shiv'ring naked trees
;
One-story homes along the quiet streets
Of sleepy towns that dot the golden plains,
With roofs and walls protecting common folk
Whose loveliness will never fade with age
And character will ever brighter burn
To bring their light and warm to distant nooks
Within their dark and frosty world.

And yet—
You look for awe in all the grander things
As though the simple stuff about the world
Could be of no report to mortal eyes.
Is there no wonder in the common man,
No glory in an ordinary face?
Is there no grandeur in the body's cells,
No luster in the robin's simple call?
Is there no splendor in the blades of grass,
Nor in the clover's simple majesty?
Must everything you treasure be a sight
That beckons the attention of a king?
Or can there be no beauty in the stuff
That constitutes the daily lives of men?
Should ev'ry song be made of stately
melodies, and ev'ry poem rhyme?

With everlasting love,
Aslan