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Poem by Emily Dickinson

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If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's land

If certain, when this life was out-
That yours and mine should be
I'd toss it yonder, like a rind,
And taste Eternity

But, now uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like a goblin bee--
That will not state its sting.

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Barbara Hume Seattle, Washington

Barbara Hume lives in the Seattle area where she has collaborated with composers for the past 20 years including David Paul Mesler, Bonnie Murphy, Paul Lewis and other northwest artists producing original music, set to a rich and varied canon of poetry. In these albums, the weaving of melody and imagery produce songs that unearth the raw senses that nurture the soul. ... more

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