Poetry Friday.Actually it's Thursday, but by the time you read this it may be Friday.
Or Wednesday. Or Tuesday. But not Monday. Anyway,
Here's a poem by the late and early Richard Brautigan entitled April 7, 1969.
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A Poetry Commotion
|by Emily Brontë|
The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow. And the storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing drear can move me; I will not, cannot go.