T H E L O N E L Y D A Y - L I L Y THE WILD FLOWER SONG BY WILLIAM BLAKE As I wander'd the forest, The green leaves among, I heard a wild flower Singing a song. I slept in the Earth In the silent night,

W I T H A C H E R R Y O N T O P CHERRY-RIPE BY THOMAS CAMPION There is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow: There

T H E D O W N F A L L O F D R E A M E R S People are dying, or perhaps they’re already dead. At this point, there’s no stopping it. It’s not as though we haven’t expected it, it was bound to happen. Or

A sample of one of my nature photography collections. These pictures were taken on the shore of the Great Sacandaga Lake in Upper State New York as I took my morning walk. I approached this collection

T H E A R T O F T H E S E L F I E Before I begin, I would like to state that this sort of photography - although some would debate whether it could even be called that - is not what I would generally think

I N V I E W O F T H E W AT E R F A L L // U N D E R T H E W A T E R F A L L BY THOMAS HARDY Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day

A S M O L D E R I N G S K Y // S U N S E T O N T H E S P I R E BY ELINOR MORTON WYLIE All that I dream By day or night Lives in that stream Of lovely light. Here is the earth, And there is the spire; This

M E L I S S A She was some sort of being that reality had forgotten to touch. Far from godly, far from angelic, but also far from the harsh hand that every other human had been shaped by. The last thing

K I B I T Z I think I need to be counseled Because I come from a long line of sinners and saints, And I think I fit more perfectly in the earlier of the two. Because anyone can fit perfectly With something

E M M A A sample of my portrait photography taken on a Canon t6i, purposely styled to focus on neutral tones.

J A C Q U E L I N E O ' H A R A My name is Jacqueline Eve O'Hara, and some day my name will be smiling at you from the spines of short story collections and novellas on your bookshelf. I'll begin with

She was some sort of being that reality had forgotten to touch. Far from godly, far from angelic, but also far from the harsh hand that every other human had been shaped by. The last thing you could ever