Emily Dickinson



a bird, came down the walk

A Bird, came down the Walk, he did not know I saw, he bit an angle worm in halves and ate the fellow, raw. And then, he drank a dew from a convenient grass, and then hopped sidewise to the wall to let a Beetle pass. He glanced with rapid eyes, that hurried all abroad, they looked like frightened beads, I thought, he stirred his velvet head. Like one in danger, cautious, I offered him a crumb, and he unrolled his feathers, and rowed him softer home. Than oars divide the ocean, too silver for a seam, or butterflies, off banks of noon, leap, plashless as they swim.

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