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The World-feels Dusty
When We stop to Die-
We want the Dew-then-
Honors-taste dry-
Flags-vex a Dying face-
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend's Hand-
Cools-like the Rain-
Mine be the Ministry
When they Thirst comes-
And Hybla Balms-
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch-
The World'feels Dusty
Emily Dickinson
(1)
Poem topics: friend, rain, world, face, taste, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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