bright sun

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bright sun

it shone bright,
brighter still,
and the brightest,
then it faded a little,
and more,
till it was all out,
do not know where he was all night,
having his fun,
this poor star called sun.

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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

ecrit’s Poems (11)

Title Comments
Title Comments
what I chewed last night 0
I know not who I am 0
this poor star called sun. 0
bright sun 0
Green 0
spinal run 0
solitude talk 0
The Cage I am in 1
Departure Pangs 2
Ascent to Heaven or Heaven's Descent 1
Aromas of her bake 0