how easy to die

Here's an Emily Dickinson verse, to accompany a quick snap of some of our late-flowering roses:


Nobody knows this little Rose

Nobody knows this little Rose --
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it --
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey --
On its breast to lie --
Only a Bird will wonder --
Only a Breeze will sigh --
Ah Little Rose -- how easy
For such as thee to die!

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Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)

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