poetry friday

With hope that you take time to gaze at a summer sunset…

by Emily Dickinson

She sweeps with many-coloured brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!


You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you’ve littered all the East

With duds of emerald!

And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars —
And then I come away.




credit: middle photo by joaobamba @ flickriver; bottom painting by elizabeth fraser @dailypainters.com