Emily Dickinson

Our Little Kinsmen after Rain

poem 885

Our little Kinsmen after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon. A needless life, it seemed to me Until a little Bird As to a Hospitality Advanced and breakfasted. As I of He, so God of Me I pondered, may have judged, And left the little Angle Worm With Modesties enlarged.

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