English poetry

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Sang from the Heart, Sire

Sang from the Heart, Sire,
Dipped my Beak in it,
If the Tune drip too much
Have a tint too Red

Pardon the Cochineal
Suffer the Vermillion
Death is the Wealth
Of the Poorest Bird.

Bear with the Ballad
Awkward faltering
Death twists the strings
‘Twasn’t my blame

Pause in your Liturgies
Wait your Chorals
While I repeat your
Hallowed name


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Poem Sang from the Heart, Sire - Emily Dickinson