It don’t sound so terrible — quite — as it did —
I run it over — “Dead”, Brain, “Dead.”
Put it in Latin — left of my school —
Seems it don’t shriek so — under rule.
Turn it, a little — full in the face
A Trouble looks bitterest —
Shift it — just —
Say “When Tomorrow comes this way —
I shall have waded down one Day.”
I suppose it will interrupt me some
Till I get accustomed — but then the Tomb
Like other new Things — shows largest — then —
And smaller, by Habit —
It’s shrewder then
Put the Thought in advance — a Year —
How like “a fit” — then —
Murder — wear!
Emily has spoke for many when she wrote this poem. This poem goes unrecognized but i appreciate this very much and i dedicate this poem for my good friend Paul Laurence Dunbar!