Most likely, everyone knows who William Wordsworth is. He was born in the Lake District in England in 1770 and is credited with helping create the English Romantic movement. He was England’s poet laureate from 1843 until his death in 1850. His poetry celebrated the wonder and beauty of the natural world. The sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet Among the bushes and trees; There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, And the cuckoo's sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky. Who…

I wasn’t able to find much information about Marina Hope Wilson other than that she has published poems in a few publications, including the Massachusetts Review, and she lives in San Francisco where she works as a speech pathologist. If you should be so moved, put the ring back in its box. Instead, bring me a magnolia. Not a flower, but a tree. I have a weakness for what grows. Goes quiet, then blooms. Fades to return. She is full of surprises. You think she's only pretty, an astonishment of petals, but she's a tough old bitch-- a fossil, a sailor, mated to a beetle. She comes back. Cast aside…

I grew up reading Lucy Maud Montgomery’s books and it has created a life-long desire to visit Prince Edward Island. Maybe one day I will make it there. I stumbled across this poem of hers and it sounds exactly like something Anne Shirley would have written. I can picture her gazing out across the shore and composing this and then Diana being her admiring audience as she reads it aloud with dramatic emphasis. A pale enchanted moon is sinking low Behind the dunes that fringe the shadowy lea, And there is haunted starlight on the flow Of immemorial sea. I am alone and need no more pretend Laughter or smile…