I love to read poetry. Almost every day I go to the library and take a poetry book off the shelf. Go to my favorite corner kick off my shoes and float away [image deleted]
There is a singer everyone has heard, Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird, Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again. He says that leaves are old and that for flowers Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten. He says the early petal-fall is past When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers On sunny days a moment overcast; And comes that other fall we name the fall. He says the highway dust is over all. The bird would cease and be as other birds But that he knows in singing not to sing. The question that he frames in all but words Is what to make of a diminished thing.
When I was in 7th grade I read my first poetry. A collection of Leonard Cohen's work. Not too long agoI read all of Robert Frost's...such easy writing to understand