Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his "native town." Nobody know "his Father"— Never was a Boy— Hadn't any playmates, Or "Early history"— Industrious! Laconic! Punctual! Sedate! Bold as a Brigand! Stiller than a Fleet! Builds, like a Bird, too! Christ robs the Nest— Robin after Robin Smuggled to Rest!
Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 13 Feb 2012 4:08 AM | Viewed: 6457 times
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