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.
Goodness, that is profound indeed.
It is indeed Sian but so suits my poems somehow, a need until the words ‘spill’ not always successfully I may add. 😌