IN A WORD ARE THE LITTLE THINGS

I analyze this poem as such, "In a Word Are the Little Things," with a deep appreciation for its intricate language and profound contemplation on the nature of existence and the power of words.

IN A WORD ARE THE LITTLE THINGS

In a Word, diminutive Things reside,

Imparting sense, to my scale, it derides.

A Soul contains a stew, profound,

Where Tongue and Taste, in depth, are found.

Within the Nest, exist Eggs unshown,

Obscurity's view, in slant is known.

My progeny, though unseen, are vast,

Within a Name, their futures cast.

Eternally fading, my Spirit concedes,

In contemplation of Time, and her quaint deeds.

A Poet? In me, yes, but in thee,

Perhaps, dear reader, a chance to be.

Alone am I, but one, yet we,

Bound by verse, in unity.

:: r/ 06.22.2023 ::

Author's Note

I refrain from analyzing this -- I save it for the reader to understand.