Confirming that deliberate inquiry about style in the context of reading and writing poetry gets students writing sentences you can wish you had written, this by Meg G.
Not a single syllable in months
But still your name is
Perched delicately behind my lips,
And dances with my tongue,
Daring to be whispered into the night,
Like a secret, a wish, a hope.
Remember what it was like to feel like you were falling in love with language, discovering something every time you wrote?
Not a single syllable in months
But still your name is
Perched delicately behind my lips,
And dances with my tongue,
Daring to be whispered into the night,
Like a secret, a wish, a hope.
Remember what it was like to feel like you were falling in love with language, discovering something every time you wrote?