School is over! I can't even believe it. I keep telling myself, "Look, love, you made it, and see where you are now!" This has been a painful and wonderful year, and I wouldn't change a minute of it.
I started my EE Cummings book recently, and I think this poem stopped my breathing for a moment:
who are you,little i
five or six years old)
peering from some high
window;at the gold
of november sunset
(and feeling:that if day
has to become night
this is a beautiful way)
five or six years old)
peering from some high
window;at the gold
of november sunset
(and feeling:that if day
has to become night
this is a beautiful way)
1 comment:
Ahhh! Cummings is love.
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