A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the eye,
Accessible to thill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.
If town it have, beyond itself,
‘T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh, — no vehicle
Bears me along that way.
Emily Dickinson
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad for life, mad for talking, mad for poetry.
A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the eye,
Accessible to thill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.
If town it have, beyond itself,
‘T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh, — no vehicle
Bears me along that way.
Emily Dickinson