Poet Jane Hirshfield said "... the feeling I have about poem-writing (is) that it is always an exploration, of discovering something I didn't already know.  Who I am shifts from moment to moment, year to year.  What I can perceive does as well.  A new poem peers into mystery, into whatever lies just beyond the edge of knowable ground."

I bring a different poem to the writing classes each week, not only to inspire but to introduce new poets to the group members.

In April by Rainer Maria Rilke

Again the woods are odorous, the lark 
Lifts on upsoaring wings the heaven gray 
That hung above the tree-tops, veiled and dark,  
Where branches bare disclosed the empty day.
After long rainy afternoons an hour  
Comes with its shafts of golden light and flings  
Them at the windows in a radiant shower,  
And rain drops beat the panes like timorous wings.  

Then all is still. The stones are crooned to sleep 
By the soft sound of rain that slowly dies;  
And cradled in the branches, hidden deep 
In each bright bud, a slumbering silence lies. 

~ in the public domain

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