Emily Dickinson

I’M Sorry For The Dead today

poem 529

I’m sorry for the Dead Today It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences It’s time o’ year for Hay. And Broad Sunburned Acquaintance Discourse between the Toil And laugh, a homely species That makes the Fences smile It seems so straight to lie away From all of the noise of Fields The Busy Carts the fragrant Cocks The Mower’s Metre Steals A Trouble lest they’re homesick Those Farmers and their Wives Set separate from the Farming And all the Neighbors’ lives A Wonder if the Sepulchre Don’t feel a lonesome way When Men and Boys and Carts and June, Go down the Fields to Hay

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