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

Tuesday 9 February 2010

Mojito

And I'd give rum, mint and lime
For an hour of your time

Who knows if you'll think of me again

But I'll wonder how
you are
and,
how,
just,
for one,
short,
second,
you,
made me feel real

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