The Rose is out of town.

Emily Dickinson

You will have to go on with your life,
all of me says, bracing,
hands in my pockets.

On the vine by the house,
the old house, where I have been before
someone has latched the shutters for the season,

Even the roses are out of town.
Oh, dead child, you are no more
of me than you are.

 

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