“It sifts from Leaden Sieves”… A Poem by Emily Dickinson

Mr. Gay Beats the Blues

C95C6313-DC2A-4F13-8A6D-2EEEAE7C8457Winter Road. Photographer unknown (tumblr).

It sifts from Leaden Sieves —
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road —

It makes an even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain —
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again —

It reaches to the Fence —
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces —
It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack – and Stem —
A Summer’s empty Room —
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them —

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen —
Then stills it’s Artisans – like Ghosts —
Denying they have been —

Emily Dickinson

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