by Emily Dickinson
'Tis not that Dying hurts us so -
'Tis Living - hurts us more -
But Dying - is a different way -
A Kind behind the Door -
The Southern Custom - of the Bird -
That ere the Frosts are due -
Accepts a better Latitude -
We - are the Birds - that stay.
The Shrivers round Farmers' doors -
For whose reluctant Crumb -
We stipulate - till pitying Snows
Persuade our Feathers Home.
Last updated June 21, 2015