She died, -- this was the way she died;
And when her breath was done,
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
Her little figure at the gate
The angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.
Vanished
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
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Poem topics: breath, never, sun, simple, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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