March
We like March, his shoes are purple,
He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
Makes he forest dry;
Knows the adder's tongue his coming,
And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
Bold it were to die
With the blue-birds buccaneering
On his British sky.
I bought a book I didn't know I'd enjoy. I'm so glad I did. Everyone should read Emily Dickinson.
He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
Makes he forest dry;
Knows the adder's tongue his coming,
And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
Bold it were to die
With the blue-birds buccaneering
On his British sky.
I bought a book I didn't know I'd enjoy. I'm so glad I did. Everyone should read Emily Dickinson.
Labels: Emily Dickinson, March, poetry, reviews
posted by Rachel Starr Thomson at 4:48 p.m.
1 Comments:
Rachel, I'm nearly 51. My schedule with factory work is tiresome. And I can't read nearly as much as I want to, so I end up staying with what is on my mind. Which for the most part is in theology.
But one of the things I'd do different is to try to read more widely. Like from Emily Dickinson and others.
But should one keep reading what they're not connecting with, at all? Maybe it can be like acquiring a taste for something good(?).
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