A Little Early for National Poetry Month, But Who Cares?

Just wanted to share a poem that’s been on my mind all week:

He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!


                         --Emily Dickinson