Poetry

Poetry trickles like a stream gone dry or rushes like a cataract that carries away its banks. It hums the working-song of a bee or growls the warning of an empty-stomached bear. It sings like a wavering kindergartener in a school chorus or ripples and glides over notes with the skill of a virtuoso. It whispers unguessed secrets or shouts the truth that we all know inside. It lives.