Is it Really True?
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty”‘, I replied
And I for truth – the two are one;
“We brethren are”, he said.And so as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
until the moss had reached our lips,
and covered up our names.
By Emily Dickinson
Light snow falls all this day.
Birds beckoning Spring to show her face.
Hiding lazily under snow covered frost.
“Winter”
by Walter de la Mare
Clouded with snow
The cold wind blows,
And shrill on leafless bough
The robin with its burning breast
Alone sings now.
The rayless sun,
Day’s journey done,
Sheds its last ebbing light
On fields in leagues of beauty spread
Unearthly White.
Thick draws the dark,
and spark by spark,
The frost fires kindle, and soon
Over that sea of frozen foam
Floats the White moon.
At the end of the day
There’s another day dawning
And the sun in the morning is waiting to rise
Like the waves crash on the sand
Like a storm that will break any second
There’s a hunger in the land
There’s a reckoning still to be reckoned and there’s gonna be – to pay
At the end of the day!
On Tiffany Creek 