The Poet by Jane Hirshfield She is working now, in a room
not unlike this one,
the one where I write, or you read.
Her table is covered with paper.
The light of the lamp would be
tempered by a shade, where the bulb's
single harshness might dissolve,
but it is not; she has taken it off.
Her poems? I will never know them,
though they are the ones I most need.
Even the alphabet she writes in
I cannot decipher. Her chair --
let us imagine whether it is leather
or canvas, vinyl or wicker. Let her
have a chair, her shadeless lamp,
the table. Let one or two she loves
be in the next room. Let the door
be closed, the sleeping ones healthy.
Let her have time, and silence,
enough paper to make mistakes and go on. GIF by Loreta Isac
Recommended listening: "The lion sleeps tonight"a real original african version
Links of the Day: The Life of Puppeteer Hobey Ford Watch: The Red Stain (La Macchia Rossa) - A short film by Francis Ford Coppola Winery
All the Art References in BoJack Horseman