Written for: Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads – The Tuesday Platform
The Tiger (William Blake)
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How I admire your brief language poems,
eloquent words expressed as soft silk.
Rich gardens of verse from your Amherst home
where flowers flourished like a bold-toned quilt.
A love of creation in writing, science,
and keen observation of human frailties,
enjoined you to a life of self-reliance,
to question beliefs of matters most weighty.
You tired of trite parlor conversations
preferring letters exchanged with friends,
where viewpoints were discussed without oration.
Some called you reclusive; you did not bend.
Those painstaking hand-sewn books of mind and heart
live on, sustain us, as does all fine art.