Jane - Poem by gershon hepner
Her pen she would caress and fondle
while most particular
that after straight lines, horizontal,
Of ideas there was not a lack,
they poured out of her head,
on horizontal lines the black,
while ones that crossed were red,
for money was in short supply
and paper, pens and ink,
and so she double-crossed to try
to write what she would think.
'A little bit of ivory,
the finest writing brush, '
she had, and left posterity
her microscopic touch.
With sensibility and sense,
not prejudice or pride,
she wrote while sitting on the fence,
her criss-cross script our guide.
Remember, though, when reading her,
how much her writing cost;
when puzzled by the black, refer
to red lines if you're lost,
for what a pleasure when you read,
believing you are lost in
black words, to find the words that bleed,
and flow red from Miss Austen.
Comments about Jane by gershon hepner
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You