She felt, I think, but as a wild-flower can,
Through her bright fluttering rags, the dark, the cold.
Some farthest star, remembering what man
Forgets, had warmed her little head with gold.
Above her, hollow-eyed, long blind to tears,
Leaf-cloaked, a skeleton of stone arose...
O castle-shadow of a thousand years,
Where you have fallen - is this the thing that grows?
- An Irish Wild-Flower by Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt
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I'm an actress, singer, dancer, and writer. I'm also a freelance journalist, a publicist, a bookseller, and a webdesigner. This LiveJournal, for the most part, pertains to books - book reviews, exclusive interviews with authors, press releases, and booklists. My journal has an emphasis on teen fiction, though there are plenty of items for adult fiction and for juvenile fiction (or "kidlit") as well.
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Posted on 7/31/2015
Blog: Little Willow - Bildungsroman (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
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I'm an actress, singer, dancer, and writer. I'm also a freelance journalist, a publicist, a bookseller, and a webdesigner. This LiveJournal, for the most part, pertains to books - book reviews, exclusive interviews with authors, press releases, and booklists. My journal has an emphasis on teen fiction, though there are plenty of items for adult fiction and for juvenile fiction (or "kidlit") as well.
Posted on 7/31/2015
Blog: Little Willow - Bildungsroman (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags: poetry friday, Add a tag