XXI
Emily Dickenson
The grass so little has to do, -
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain
And stir all day to pretty tunes
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;
Crowning the hill |
A glimpse of home |
Quiet beckons |
Proudly posing blue beauty |
Little fingers collecting summer time treasures |
Blackberries not yet black guarded by a sentinel daisy |
Walks with a friend are always the best |
Summer donned her lacy gown |
A creative display of grasses |
Goodbye! |
And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine, -
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.
And even when it dies, to pass
In odors so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.
And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away, -
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay!
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