Dear March — Come in —
How glad I am —
I hoped for you before —
Put down your Hat —
You must have walked —
How out of Breath you are —
Dear March, Come right upstairs with me —
I have so much to tell —
I got your Letter, and the Birds —
The Maples never knew that you were coming — till I called
I declare — how Red their Faces grew —
But March, forgive me — and
All those Hills you left for me to Hue —
There was no Purple suitable —
You took it all with you —
Who knocks? That April.
Lock the Door —
I will not be pursued —
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied —
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come
That Blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame —
~ Emily Dickinson
*****
Image of daffodil by Nanda93 (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Love it!
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I’m glad! So do I.
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Quite divine, Kathy. Never read it before, thank you.
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You’re welcome. Emily is with me, and I can’t get her to leave.
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You may have just the merest wisp of chance at creating in me a modest appreciation for Ms. Dickinson…where none has existed before.
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Oh, good. I’ll keep trying.
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