THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE
by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
I cried.
It is as if Yeats put a probe into the core of my heart
and wrote these words for what he found there:
a heartfelt desire to "live alone" and "have some peace there".
I cried and cried and cried.
In my deep heart's core,
I know I have been heard.
No feet.
No arms.
No hair.
Lightly stuffed.
Just a glimpse into the
deep core of my heart.
A red running stitch outlines my heart.
Discarded red threads burst from
the heart's deep core.
A flap.
Will it slam shut the heart's door
or will it open further
and allow the heart to heal?
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