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.