I’ll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, “That must have been the sun!
EMILY DICKINSON
We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.
