The beautifully written words of others
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A Rose for Emily
WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant–a combined gardener and cook–had seen in at least ten years.
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Sonnet XXIV
Sonnet XXIV by William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585-1649) If crost with all mishaps be my poor life, If one short day I never spent in mirth, If my sp’rit with itself holds lasting strife, If sorrows’ death is but new sorrows’ birth; If this vain world would be but a mournful stage, Where slave-born man…
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A Bend In The Road
The End Of The Road Is But A Bend In The Road A poem by Helen Steiner Rice When we feel we have nothing left to giveAnd we are sure that the “song has ended”–When our day seems over and the shadows fallAnd the darkness of night has descended, Where can we go to find…
Ashley Kleinsmith 