Blazing in gold and quenching in purple,
Leaping like leopards to the sky,
Then at the feet of the old horizon
Laying her spotted face, to die;
Stooping as low as the kitchen window,
Touching the roof and tinting the barn,
Kissing her bonnet to the meadow, -
And the juggler of day is gone!
In December I am making my 45 minute commute toward work into the sunrise and home toward the sunset. Coming and going I marvel at the sky. Emily Dickinson has some beautiful poems that perfectly fit my mood and this is one of them.
The Friday Poetry round up is at Becky's Book Reviews this week. Go have a look!