What Is Poetry
The basic language of the soul,
Through which dumb life is made
At last, articulate;
The strangled cry
Of world-democracy, new-born,
With wide-eyed vision, unafraid;
Rhythmic stir
Of the primal clod,
To follow the flute-call
Up to God.
~ Nellie Burget Miller
From my mother's poetry notebook
The basic language of the soul,
Through which dumb life is made
At last, articulate;
The strangled cry
Of world-democracy, new-born,
With wide-eyed vision, unafraid;
Rhythmic stir
Of the primal clod,
To follow the flute-call
Up to God.
~ Nellie Burget Miller
From my mother's poetry notebook
No comments:
Post a Comment