Nobody knows this little Rose --
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it --
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey --
On its breast to lie --
Only a Bird will wonder --
Only a Breeze will sigh --
Ah Little Rose -- how easy
For such as thee to die!

Emily Dickinson

Friday, 12 February 2010


How mesmerous the clouds
in Van Gogh swirls adorn the sky
I sit in splendour, string at heels
And with one lush breath, fly

1 comment:

  1. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.