Poems -- April 2018

We never know how high we are (1176)

Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886

We never know how high we are  
  Till we are called to rise;  
And then, if we are true to plan,  
  Our statures touch the skies—  
   
The Heroism we recite
  Would be a daily thing,  
Did not ourselves the Cubits warp  
  For fear to be a King—

In Just 
by e.e. cummings


IN Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman
 
whistles far and wee
 
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring
 
when the world is puddle-wonderful
 
the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
 
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
 
it's
spring
and
the
 
goat-footed
 
baloonMan whistles
far
and
wee







Read more at http://www.poetry-archive.com/c/in_just.html#uE2J0H2vlQdiUaAS.99