| Try some emily dickenson
THE SKIES can’t keep their secret!
They tell it to the hills—
The hills just tell the orchards—
And they the daffodils!
A bird, by chance, that goes that way 5
Soft overheard the whole.
If I should bribe the little bird,
Who knows but she would tell?
I think I won’t, however,
It’s finer not to know; 10
If summer were an axiom,
What sorcery had snow?
So keep your secret, Father!
I would not, if I could,
Know what the sapphire fellows do, 15
In your new-fashioned world! |