I would like to begin my blog with a poem about writing:


When I Met My Muse


I glanced at her and took my glasses

off--they were still singing. They buzzed

like a locust on the coffee table and then

ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the

sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and

knew that nails up there took a new grip

on whatever they touched. "I am your own

way of looking at things," she said. "When

you allow me to live with you, every

glance at the world around you will be

a sort of salvation." And I took her hand.


William Stafford
 
 
 
 
I hope you all like the poem and I wish we can all share our thoughts and we can create a nice group.
 
Emanuel