Poetry Friday - Our blank
Today I have a poem by Emily Dickinson, who apparently had that last poem by Emily Bronte read at her funeral. You could read this poem as being rather flippant, but I think rather the poet is endeavouring to keep perspective and to keep hope.
OUR share of night to bear,
Our share of morning,
Our blank in bliss to fill,
Our blank in scorning.
Here a star, and there a star,
Some lose their way.
Here a mist, and there a mist,
Afterwards—day!
Emily Dickinson