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Read more poems by Emily Dickinson: Emily Dickinson Poems at Poetry X.

467

We do not play on Graves—
Because there isn't Room—
Besides—it isn't even—it slants
And People come—

And put a Flower on it—
And hang their faces so—
We're fearing that their Hearts will drop—
And crush our pretty play—

And so we move as far
As Enemies—away—
Just looking round to see how far
It is—Occasionally—

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 22 Nov 2009 7:41 AM | Viewed: 7695 times

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