I'm trying to make more time in my time-starved life for poetry. Why? Because poetry pulls me in and stops time ... or seems to. And lets me breathe.
Yesterday, in the 30 minutes I was able to grab for lunch, I pulled out my trusty Norton Anthology of Poetry and opened to Shakespeare's sonnets. When I read the familiar Sonnet 27, I thought of Anne, and how thoughts of her throughout the day--when I look at her picture on my desktop, or when Angela e-mails me about something cute that she did--really do bring me "such wealth/That then I scorn to change my state with kings."
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.