An Immortal Journey
On envelopes, or stitched booklets, she wrote,
When writing her hands shook.
She hid these for she mistook,
Who'd grant her genius a look?
Poetry can strange friends make, no one knew:
Her mind bent, or she'd break,
Treasure trove sent in the wake
O’ Civil War, no mistake.
Call it a woman's fancy. Dickinson's
Epistles-poetry
A rapport struck, were privy
Full eight years, a soul journey.
Author's Note - This poem is about how nearly 70 letters and poetry (plus 500 poems) struck a deep friendship between Dickinson and Thomas Wentworth Higginson, her first editor cum publisher.