A poem…begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness… It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
ROBERT FROST, The letters of Robert Frost to Louis Untermeyer.
A poem…begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness… It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
ROBERT FROST, The letters of Robert Frost to Louis Untermeyer.
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Sian
Goodness, that is profound indeed.
Susie
It is indeed Sian but so suits my poems somehow, a need until the words ‘spill’ not always successfully I may add. 😌