If I cannot fly, let me sing.
Happy Friday, y'all! This week, I ran across a lovely poem by Amy Lowell and decided to write a golden shovel from the first line. I wrote my poem from the memory of the line, and what I thought it was wasn't quite right. Ah, well! Let's just say my poem was inspired by "Listening"!
an excerpt from
by Amy Lowell
'Tis you that are the music, not your song.
The song is but a door which, opening wide,
Lets forth the pent-up melody inside,
Your spirit's harmony, which clear and strong
Sings but of you. Throughout your whole life long
Your songs, your thoughts, your doings, each divide
This perfect beauty; waves within a tide,
Or single notes amid a glorious throng.
On a day when light and breeze entwine like so, tis
easy to feel the rightness, the brightness of this world you
love like a child loves a rambunctious puppy who
chews on your fingers with wee teeth that are
too small to break the skin, that don't even make you pull away. The
laughter of children at play weaves into the sky like music
written on a staff of bird flight, lines you can not
see but reverberate in the air like the call of a finch to the
mate he is soon to find. You feel it still -- the day is not over for the song.
TeacherDance has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Linda!