Will there really be a Morning? By Emily Dickinson Will there really be a Morning? Is there such a thing as "Day"? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they? Has it feet like Water lilies? Has it feathers like a Bird? Is it brought from famous countries Of which I have never heard? Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor! Oh some Wise Men from the skies! Please to tell a little Pilgrim Where the place called "Morning" lies! - this was one of the poems I was brought up hearing. One of the many my Mum knew off by heart. She told tales of her father, Micheal Mullarkey, also reciting poetry. Beauty and culture within their harsh, hard life. Poetry and words, setting a fire in my heart. Words which now live through me and my children. Gifted by my mum.