Submitted for your reading pleasure, this Emily Dickinson poem of winter...
The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.
A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
Nature, like us, is sometimes caught
Without her diadem.
(submitted by Moon Rani)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment