It's Poetry

I found this picture the other day and it made me feel a little sentimental. Slightly cheesy to put on a blog, but what the heck. How many people are really going to read this anyways, right? Well today I went to Barnes and Noble (the best place on earth. . . I am like a kid in a candy store in that place), and I bought The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson and happened to stumble upon a poem that I thought went oh so well with this picture. So here you go. And again, I apologize if this caused anyone a slight spell of nausea.



If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.



If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.



If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.



If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.



But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.

-Emily Dickinson