In Falling Timbers Buried
614
In falling Timbers buried-
There breathed a Man-
Outside-the spades-were plying-
The Lungs-within-
Could He-know-they sought Him-
Could They-know-He breathed-
Horrid Sand Partition-
Neither-could be heard-
Never slacked the Diggers-
But when Spades had done-
Oh, Reward of Anguish,
It was dying-Then-
Many Things-are fruitless-
'Tis a Baffling Earth-
But there is no Gratitude
Like the Grace-of Death-
Emily Dickinson
The copyright of the poems published here are belong to their poets.
Internetpoem.com is a non-profit poetry portal. All information in here has been published only for educational and informational purposes.