Poetry Friday

It's late in the day, and the temperature is dropping again. Though it's nothing compared to the last week here in the Deep South. It makes me want to curl up beside a fire, wrap myself in fleece, and read a good book of poems. In honor of the day, the moment, the words, here's one from Emily Dickinson.

He ate and drank the precious Words --
His Spirit grew robust --
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was Dust --

He danced along the dingy Days
And this Bequest of Wings
Was but a Book -- What Liberty
A loosened spirit brings --