Rebuked, she turned and ran
uphill to the barn. Anger, the inner
arsonist, held a match to her brain.
She observed her life: against her will
...
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It's official. With reading the last few poems and this one- I am a huge fan of Jane Kenyon. She is a master wordsmith- Anger, the inner arsonist, held a match to her brain. - - The stone trough was still filled with water: she watched it and received its calm. - - Then she closes the poem so briefly, clearly, lucid as the water she writes about. She died too young, God, we need her ilk on earth here guiding us
Marvellous! Real poetry. Sure, Jane Kenyon is a great poet. Deserves to be treated better.