Poem

It is easy to work when the soul is at play

Emily Dickinson
244 It is easy to work when the soul is at play— But when the soul is in pain— The hearing him put his playthings up Makes work difficult—then— It is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind— But Gimlets—among the nerve— Mangle daintier—terribler— Like a Panter in the Glove—

One poem every morning.

6,130 poems from Shakespeare to Tupac. Read one a day. Save the ones that stay.
Free on the App Store.