When forty winters shall besiege thy brow (Sonnet 2) Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface (Sonnet 6) Not marble nor the gilded monuments (Sonnet 55) Full many a glorious morning have I seen (Sonnet 33)
One glorious morning before April has fled, perhaps, you will mosey on down to the Central Library, with ticket in hand, to partake of the First Folio! This spring, the play’s the thing with Shakespeare taking center stage at the Seattle Public Library. But oh, there is more afoot to be found beyond the rare air of the folio.
Let’s get down to business, the business of beginning to enter the poem. It will cost you, you know, time and more time that you can imagine. But, if you allow yourself the journey, if you permit the path to form then may you, traveler, travel on, On Poetry.
Sometime, during this season of growth, why not follow that bud of thought and branch out, bloom into the possibility of poetry. Poetry is as wide-mouthed as a nest of hungry birds. Where to begin but with that squiggly line of a title whose scent reeks of earthbound adventures beckoning you to partake of depths that lie inside the lives of lines.