Emily Dickinson
A recluse nicknamed ‘nun of Amherst
Wrote rhymes about death, faith and curse
‘Springfield Republican’ cleaved her mind
Where thoughts are joined you will find
‘Hope is the thing with feathers’
Where sweetest sound of gale is heard
She left an indelible mark on most
Who felt her depth and got engrossed
In life she didn’t get much recognition
Her poems surpassed every mission
‘I asked no other thing’
Gave a reason for being
In spite of unfavourable reviews and scepticism
She never let go of life’s schism
She died at a very tender age
And the world still suffers from her passage
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
