Big Dipper - Poem by Kathleen Griffin
Now Charles’ Wain hangs pendant in the sky
this clear, cold night. Folklore made the King
and Emperor a saint at times, or pictured farming
the far and stony reaches there on high
among the scattered stars, his task marked by
the homely farm-cart. What fantastic thing
in all his life could any chanson sing
that would compare with this immortality?
Unsaintly saint, dubious hero, yet
higher than Roland who at Roncevalles
fought to protect him, Charles is set –
husbanding meteors, counting the windfalls
of stars, carrying in his cart
the wild imagination of the heart.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You