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That odd old man is dead a year-
We miss his stated Hat.
'Twas such an evening bright and stiff
His faded lamp went out.
Who miss his antiquated Wick-
Are any hoar for him?
Waits any indurated mate
His wrinkled coming Home?
Oh Life, begun in fluent Blood
And consummated dull!
Achievement contemplating thee-
Feels transitive and cool.
That Odd Old Man Is Dead A Year'
Emily Dickinson
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Poem topics: home, life, evening, bright, lamp, year, cool, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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