“who are you,little i
(five or six years old)
peering from some highwindow; at the gold
of november sunset
(and feeling: that if day
has to become nightthis is a beautiful way).”
— e. e. cummings
“who are you,little i
(five or six years old)
peering from some highwindow; at the gold
of november sunset
(and feeling: that if day
has to become nightthis is a beautiful way).”
— e. e. cummings