When my third book of verse needed a title, and I had chose to call it Echoes lll, Even More Neo-Victorian Poetry, I put my foot down. "That's it! This is the final echoes. They're becoming superfluous."
(Oh, I do so love irony: superfluous = excessive = echoes.)
But, once I stopped laughing at my little inside joke, I realized that there was still one more book yet to print; a compilation comprising all three of my books. Hence, the title: A Compilation of Echoes.
This is not, by any means, the last book of verse that I plan to write. There are still plenty of poems patiently waiting in my Poetry Box, while my muse continues to softly whisper new ideas into my ear.
In the meantime, I am very excited and pleased to present to you:
A Compilation of Echoes.
(Oh, I do so love irony: superfluous = excessive = echoes.)
But, once I stopped laughing at my little inside joke, I realized that there was still one more book yet to print; a compilation comprising all three of my books. Hence, the title: A Compilation of Echoes.
This is not, by any means, the last book of verse that I plan to write. There are still plenty of poems patiently waiting in my Poetry Box, while my muse continues to softly whisper new ideas into my ear.
In the meantime, I am very excited and pleased to present to you:
A Compilation of Echoes.
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