Poetry Friday: Anne Porter

I don't think I've posted this one by Anne Porter since 2009, when Atticus discovered her. Far past time to revisit it. Sublime. 

Music
by Anne Porter

When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother's piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold

And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
...

(Read the whole poem here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

The round up today is at Author Amok.