We never know how high we are (1176)
Emily Dickinson 1830 – 1886
We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies—
The Heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the Cubits warp
For fear to be a King—
Submissions are open. If you have a poem you want me to read on the podcast, now’s the time.
I’m looking for the one that lights you up. The one you’re proud of. The one you can’t read without crying. The one that makes you feel something big.
Let’s make space for the one this Fall on One Poem Only.
Deadline is Thursday, July 31.
🍎 Submit Here 🍎