Poem of the Week 10/30/2006: Megan

Megan

Megan, my dog,
You freed me from that churning water.
You turned and came back to me
as I screamed for you.

You glided to me over the sharp rocks
like a ballerina
getting ready to dance,
and you pulled me to shore.

You gazed into my eyes,
and comforted me
as I cried for my father.

Megan, thank you.

Sibella Campbell
Grade 3 - Northern Lights ABC
2006

Poetry is right language, Howard Nemerov writes, and this is true whether you are 9 or 19 or 109. The first stanza of this poem is spectacularly right language. Without the first and last lines, this poem could be as good as many of the poems written by people four or five times her age; the tightness and clarity of language make it strong and powerful.