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445

Post by Guest on Thu 04 Dec 2008, 10:11 pm

.

’Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms —
It had the Tassels on —

I thought how yellow it would look —
When Richard went to mill —
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how Red — Apples wedged
The Stubble’s joints between —
And the Carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in —

I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If Father’d multiply the plates —
To make an even Sum —

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me —

But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
How just this time, some perfect year —
Themself, should come to me —

Emily Dickinson

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Re: 445

Post by Guest on Fri 05 Dec 2008, 1:14 am

wonderful words Miss D.

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Re: 445

Post by Guest on Fri 20 Mar 2009, 9:28 pm

It is amazing what someone can feel while in solitude. She was a beautiful provoker. She has one called HOPE. I hope you can read someday.

TeeJane

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