I don't profess to be profound; but I do lay claim to common sense. - Emily Dickinson

Susie, what shall I do - there is'nt room enough; not half enough, to hold what I was going to say. Wont you tell the man who makes sheets of paper, that I hav'nt the slightest respect for him!

Hope' is the thing with feathers — That perches in the soul — And sings the tune without the words — And never stops — at all — And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard — And sore must be the storm — That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm — I’ve heard it in the chillest land — And on the strangest Sea — Yet — never — in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of me.

Pain - has an Element of Blank
It cannot recollect
When it begun - or if there were
a time when it was not -
It has no Future - but itself -
Its Infinite contain
Its Past - enlightened to perceive
New Periods - of Pain.