In The Seven Woods by William Butler Yeats
I have heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods
Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees
Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away
The unavailing outcries and the old bitterness
That empty the heart. I have forgot awhile
Tara uprooted, and new commonness
Upon the throne and crying about the streets
And hanging its paper flowers from post to post,
Because it is alone of all things happy.
I am contented, for I know that Quiet
Wanders laughing and eating her wild heart
Among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer,
Who but awaits His hour to shoot, still hangs
A cloudy quiver over Pairc-na-lee.
And on this cloudy January day, warm and humid, I am finally finished with the Number series of this challenge. It would seem that finding seven things to photograph, or to find something that represents seven, would be easy. After a week of interpreting numbers and seeing hundreds of different views of One through Seven, it was quite difficult. In the end, I decided to go with the obvious. Number Seven on a century old gravestone, covered in moss and forgotten.