A Poem A Day: Read a Poem to someone you love.

Here is a poem I love by Emily Dickinson.

It is not 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 soon as frost are due

Adopts a better latitude.

We are the birds that stay,

The shiverers round farmers’ doors,

For whose reluctant crumb

We stipulate, till pitying snows

Persuade our feathers home.

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

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