Bride the Little Bird

The skies can't keep their secrets!
They tell it to the hills--
The hills just tell the orchards--
And they the daffodils!

A bird, by chance, that goes that way
Soft overheard the whole.
If I should bride the little bird,
Who knows but she would tell?

I think I won't, however,
It's finer not to know;
If summer were an axiom,
What sorcery had snow?

So keep your secret, Father!
I would not, If I could,
Know what the sapphire fellows do,
In your new-fashioned world!

-Emily Dickinson

Artwork - 4 x 6, water soluble oil bars & Sharpie.