![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZr3brRG-jHP1DfGgl9fm90rH8aG4CG2b6FgO9TaCIk8G9tzrpWxY1vsC1iZig4u0g-g63ygpIpyBe_WFm35707pyH4-PRzqDWdYmKfoAXSdYRjP-jXHi3OguIYplJ8GDXiYGgLq8NMrI/s400/sensed+through+dark+august+rain.jpg)
An unbidden poet’s
bedeviling cry
levels a challenge,
and waits for reply:
“Why would ambition
ever be small?
You might as well never
have had one at all.”
(Emily pokes at
her flowering sod –
and conjures new ways
to keep puzzling God.)
bedeviling cry
levels a challenge,
and waits for reply:
“Why would ambition
ever be small?
You might as well never
have had one at all.”
(Emily pokes at
her flowering sod –
and conjures new ways
to keep puzzling God.)
.
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