A Word made Flesh is seldom

By Emily Dickinson
A Word made Flesh is seldom
And tremblingly partook
Nor then perhaps reported
But have I not mistook
Each one of us has tasted
With ecstasies of stealth
The very food debated
To our specific strength --

A Word that breathes distinctly
Has not the power to die
Cohesive as the Spirit
It may expire if He --
"Made Flesh and dwelt among us"
Could condescension be
Like this consent of Language
This loved Philology.
I'm taking a bit of a break today; I had a busy weekend. Until then a poem.

1 comment:

Miss Steffy said...

i gotta catch up here with the blogs, i am gone for a couple of days and all these blogs i missed! I finally got my new computer and have been offline for a bit, cept random sneaks at work of my myspace. Update: all rats went to the doctor, cept molly, all in good health, guinea girls are fat and so is their mother. CHEERS!