The hours spent,
the petals picked,
the eggs counted,
the stars mapped—
all this time imagining
—thinking, capturing
the octave of letters,
in attempt to
illuminate this feeling
that no letters
ever can.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 12:44 PM UTC
The hours spent,
the petals picked,
the eggs counted,
the stars mapped—
all this time imagining
—thinking, capturing
the octave of letters,
in attempt to
illuminate this feeling
that no letters
ever can.
Request permission to use this poem