The Winters Are So Short
Emily Dickinson
403 The Winters are so short— I’m hardly justified In sending all the Birds away— And moving into Pod— Myself—for scarcely settled— The Phoebes have begun— And then—it’s time to strike my Tent— And open House—again— It’s mostly, interruptions— My Summer—is despoiled— Because there was a Winter—once— And al the Cattle—starved— And so there was a Deluge— And swept the World away— But Ararat’s a Legend—now— And no one credits Noah—
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