who are you, little i - e. e. cummings
who are you,little i
(five or six years old)
peering from some high
window;at the gold
of november sunset
(and feeling that:if day
has to become night
this is a beautiful way)
6 comments:
It is beautiful.
i wish every beautiful thing ended in a sunset.
but they don't. they just sink.
it would have meant so much more.
they don't even sink.
if they did then you would've been able to watch them sink.
they just suddenly become invisible.
i have noticed that recently, i keep saying invincible when i actually want to say invisible.
Who cares about pondering on one's identity? Such boring and obtusely different answers for everyone of us. =P
Plus, it's hard to get the answer anyway when you ask that question.
invincible. you'd make the things which were supposed to go invisible very happy though. :)
I love cummings. especially 'i carry your heart with me'
you have a very interesting blog. and this is such a kindred poem :)
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