Ellen Loudon

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A POISON TREE

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WAS angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunnèd it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole,
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

by: William Blake (1757-1827)

Got so much to do. This week is the time I sit down with the PhD and assess where I am up to. My foe is not so much a person or a thing more a mindset that tells me that I can’t get all this done.

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Written by ellenloudon

March 5, 2007 at 10:45 pm

Posted in PhD, poem

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