I am reading, "Of Men and Trees" a book of poetry published by Ethel Williams Wright published in 1954. The book--signed by the author--was lent to me by Joan Hightower, a fellow poet whom I met at a holiday party. Joan is a sweet octogenarian and mother-in-law to my boss. I'm halfway through the book, but I wanted to share a few short ones which I fell in love with at first read:
This is not final;
This that is now, and I lent without choice
From opposite eternities,
To meet in time's inevitable plan,
Will not be soon, not that which follows this;
Whether it is what I want or must accept.
All is changing;
Moving forever from and toward the mystery
Of its beginning.
Each finds himself, sometime, within a sphere
Where only feeling is; and to many,
Having felt is quite enough.
Yet, others spend the poet's restless year
Up and down its inarticulate depth
Searching vainly every crevice
For a word.
"Of Men and Treens", Poems by Ethel Williams Wright, 1954 (Exposition Press)
The Living Poetry Project and NEVERMORE
1 year ago