POETRY IS what you thought about when you were a child, somehow not

forgotten in the business of growing up, and discovered to be true, and

valuable, and possible, just as you always thought it was .... . .

POETRY IS the language of hoped-for country of light, overheard when

the road you walk on brings you nearer the unknown border than ever

before

POETRY IS that amazement you feel when you understand that light can

be like a sword, the voice like a hand caressing you, thought like a

flower bursting into bloom, or joy like a star falling through the sky...

POETRY IS the coin, out of the dull and leaden handful we throw down

in payment for the hours of life, that rings true and clear, and lies

glittering where it falls ... .

POETRY IS the tree of life packed in a seed and planted in heart and

mind, where it takes root, and grows green, and flowers, and is the

tree again .

POETRY IS what sight would be to the blind, speech to the dumb,

walking to the -crippled, and life to the condemned; but you and I see,

speak, walk, live, and we have poetry.