If it had no pencil
Would it try mine-
Worn-now-and dull-sweet,
Writing much to thee.
If it had no word,
Would it make the Daisy,
Most as big as I was,
When it plucked me?
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Quotes of the Day
Irish poets, learn your trade, sing whatever is well made, scorn the sort now growing up all out of shape from toe to top
by Ellen Bryant VoigtThe winter field is not
the field of summer lost in snow: it is
another thing, a different thing.
“We shouted, we shook you,” you tell me,
but there was no sound, no face, no fear, only