May 30, 1923 - January 15, 2008
The Last Night That She Lived
by Emily Dickinson
The last night that she lived,
It was a common night,
Except the dying; this to us
Made nature different.
We noticed smallest things,—
Things overlooked before,
By this great light upon our minds
Italicized, as 'twere.
That other could exist
While she must finish quite,
A jealousy for her arose
So nearly infinite.
We waited while she passed;
It was a narrow time,
Too jostled were our souls to speak,
At length the notice came.
She mentioned, and forgot;
Then lightly as a reed
Bent to the water, shivered scarce,
Consented, and was dead.
And we, we placed the hair,
And drew the head erect;
And then an awful leisure was,
Our faith to regulate.
1 comment:
This entry as well as this blog has been a loving memorial tribute to your wonderful mother. Michelle, you have served her well in life and in her final days. What at a blessing you were in her life. You will miss her so though you know she is better off now. I send you my love and admiration.
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