I'm reading a collection of Emily Dickinson's poetry. Slant rhymes, obsession with sight and with death, and with nature and with bees.
I am ignorant about the chronological order of these poems, but I am fairly sure I'm witnessing her poetic development.
My own poems are rubbish at the moment, but maybe someday my verse will have evolved.
Maybe. and
Someday
No comments:
Post a Comment