All in the evenings, sweet Emily
Would walk by the water's edge, dreaming
Of a voice that might wake her forever
From such idle revery.
She trampled grasses down,
So blindly did she stride, musing
On the destination of the wind,
The sequence of history.
All days, in every season, Emily
Would walk to the river's edge, wondering
Whether she might not care to be
Part of the river's legacy
To the city of New Orleans.
1980
Sadness is pervasive in this fragile and beautiful poem. Very touching, Will. Your poetess friend, Sandra
very beautiful in a haunting sort of feel...glad to have found your poetry
this is quite haunting especially now. excellent, moving work. -Tailor
I see Ophelia in your Emily. Ophelia before drowning, insane in love.... Hamlet could have never been brave enough, if Ophelia hadn´t killed herself.
This is a beautiful poem, the flow worthy of our Emily Dickinson!
This is another great write Will, what did you have for breakfast, sounds like we should all be eating it! Love duncan X
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this a lot Will, it has a tenderness to it that drenches each line. The flow is gorgeousand dreamlike. I think that the last line is outstanding. The poem ceases to be about an individual and alters into a communal spirit.