Because he's just that good.
Because I have raised young women who write.
Because Betsy is graduating and growing up and away.
And because when Betsy has flown, I will remember my writer, enclosed in the world of her keyboard and screen, as she so often was -- jaw set, fingers flying -- pounding out her dreams, making them real and strong.
The Writer
by Richard Wilbur
In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.
...
I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
...
We watched the sleek, wild, dark
And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
....
(Promise me you will go read the whole poem here, at Poets.org.)
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
P.S. Today is the last day to enter to win one of five copies of Deathbed Conversions. Just go to this link for details about the contest, the sale on the book at OSV, and to leave a comment to enter. The contest ends tonight at midnight (CDT).
3 comments:
I love that poem! Hugs to you :).
I'm so glad I promised to read the whole thing. It's lovely. I love that she's in the prow of the ship/home. I love the connection between the daughter and the bird. Thanks for sharing this and the snapshot of where you are.
Roots and wings, that's what you have given and that is what will stay. I have sent three daughters out into the world. It's scary and lonely, but so worth it to watch them fly.
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