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Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Thoughts on a Summer Day

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
                      ~Emily Dickinson

I really enjoy reading the works of Emily Dickinson.  She was a really talented poet.  Last year we had to pick two poems to memorize and this is one of the ones that I picked.  I enjoyed reading, and then memorizing it because it has a pattern.  It doesn't always rhyme, but it has a bit of a rhythm, sort of like a song. Try singing it.  It's kind of an odd song, and it would be different for everyone, depending on the tune they choose, and if they choose to repeat certain stanzas (I chose to repeat the first one after I went through the poem once.)  

This next poem, also by Emily Dickinson, I can relate to.  

THIS is my letter to the world,   
  That never wrote to me,—       
The simple news that Nature told,          
  With tender majesty.  
 
Her message is committed                  
  To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,       
  Judge tenderly of me!
                       ~Emily Dickinson

This blog is my way of leaving a mark on the world, even if it isn't a large footprint, even if it is only a smudge of the windshield of all eternity, all existence, it'll still be there, and maybe, one day, somebody will find it, buried under centuries worth of technological junk.  But then again, if it's only a smudge on the windshield of the universe, then I'll most likely get wiped away by all the newer, bigger, better things that are made.  
Nikole


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