Her Face Was In A Bed Of Hair

Emily Dickinson

1722

Her face was in a bed of hair,
Like flowers in a plot-
Her hand was whiter than the sperm
That feeds the sacred light.
Her tongue more tender than the tune
That totters in the leaves-
Who hears may be incredulous,
Who witnesses, believes.

(C) Emily Dickinson
01/01/2000

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