’T IS whiter than an Indian pipe,
’T is dimmer than a lace;
No stature has it, like a fog,
When you approach the place.Not any voice denotes it here,
Or intimates it there;
A spirit, how doth it accost?
What customs hath the air?This limitless hyperbole
~Emily Dickinson
Each one of us shall be:
‘T is drama, if (hypothesis)
It be not tragedy!
I just got back from a conference in New York and am struggling to keep my head above water both at work and at home, so today you get a poem and a picture. Enjoy!
The Emily Project 