Oh hell, here's one more. I just couldn't resist. I love poetry so much; which always reminds me of my first boyfriend, or one of my first boyfriends, because he was such an elitist snob. I remember his saying that he loved The New Yorker but hated poetry. Hated Poetry? Even then, and through this haze of love, I thought he must be insane because I just couldn't see him as ignorant. Too funny that he wound up becoming so incredibly succesful in the theatre. I'm not jealous, (of course I am), but tell me, how can you embrace theatre without also loving poetry? All of Shakespeare is poetry as far as I'm concerned. Don't mind me, I'm just bitter, even now, twenty-five years later, because he broke my heart when he broke up with me, and then wrote a play with a character modelled after me who grew out her underarm hair and sat in bed brushing it. The little shit. I hope he's grown up some in the last few decades, at least in his attitude towards women. He so owes me an apology.
As far as poetry is concerned I could sit here for days gathering poems to share. I especially love undiscovered poets, maybe because I love to write poetry and rarely do any more. I was actually looking for a poem that might capture the way I was feeling today about the weather changing -- the season changing from summer to fall, and this will do nicely for now. I adore Robert Frost. His Road Not Taken has definitely influenced the course of my life, or at least I like to think it has, because it's been with me from the moment I first read it.
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.