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

Thursday 11 February 2010

Weary

Finally managed my Y12 assignment of a melancholy limerick!

If I lie very still for a week
Forget how to move, how to speak
Can I learn not to be
this regret which is me
and become the someone that I seek?
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