FC: Reflection in Nature Jaclyn Fulmer
1: Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874-January 29,1963) was an American Poet.
3: Robert Frost was born in San Francisco, California, to Journalist William Prescott Frost, JR. and Isabelle Moodie. RiR
4: Born on April 4th, 1928, in St. Louis, Missouri, Dr. Angelou was raised in St. Louis and Stamps, Arkansas. In Stamps, Dr. Angelou experienced the brutality of racial discrimination, but she also absorbed the unshakable faith and values of traditional African-American family, community, and culture.
6: Maya Angelou poem
8: Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Born in Amherst, Massachusetts, to a successful family with strong community ties, she lived a mostly introverted and reclusive life.
11: William Wordsworth (7 April 1770 – 23 April 1850) was a major English Romantic poet who, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, helped to launch the Romantic Age in English literature with the 1798 joint publication Lyrical Ballads.
13: my poems... | Dreams Once I had a dream To be with the stars, Be known and esteemed In the island and far. I whispered that I could achieve This dream of fortune and fame In my mind, what I conceived I held in my hands and I became I went through all the pains, Endured all of them I am a winner, I claim And found on earth my realm Jaclyn Fulmer
14: True Love Love is being happy for the other person when they are happy, being sad for the person when they are sad, being together in good times and being together in bad times Love is the source of strength. Love is being honest with yourself at all times, being honest with the other person at all times, telling, listening, and respecting the truth never pretending, Love is the source of reality. Love is the freedom to pursue your own desires, while sharing your experiences with the other person the growth of one individual alongside of and together with the growth of another individual Love is the source of success. Jaclyn Fulmer
15: Nature-Forest I walked alone in a forest of whispers, under stars would I find what I saw. I remember his eyes burnt dead cinders, when his phantom would never be caught. In his tragic arrangement of foresight, wicked eyes from the trees saw their prey. Heaven left and deserted this dark night, And I knew why he wished not to say. All I saw bereft of all glory, twisted roots wretched in pain at my feet. Where the killing moon shine from above, I was lost in this woodland of echoes, Never entered by elegant love. Jaclyn Fulmer