Because I could not wire a Plug,
It wired itself to me.
The carriage held but just ourselves,
And Electricity.
We passed the school, where children strove
To gain some erudition,
Ah! what a shame I did not learn
To be an Electrician.
For who would think a wire called live
The life of humans halts?
My wiring style contains, I fear,
Two hundred forty faults.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet
We drive for all we're worth;
The eternal heavens seem so live;
So neutral seemed the earth.
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC
Because I could not wire a Plug,
It wired itself to me.
The carriage held but just ourselves,
And Electricity.
We passed the school, where children strove
To gain some erudition,
Ah! what a shame I did not learn
To be an Electrician.
For who would think a wire called live
The life of humans halts?
My wiring style contains, I fear,
Two hundred forty faults.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet
We drive for all we're worth;
The eternal heavens seem so live;
So neutral seemed the earth.
I think Emily Dickinson's "Death" demonstrates that the common metre can make even the best metaphor sound trite.