Hello,
Dear ones,
And welcome to today's reading by Emily Dickinson.
If you were coming in the fall.
If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by with half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do they fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls and put them each in separate drawers until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped into Van Diemen's land.
If certain when this life was out that yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind and taste eternity.
But now,
All ignorant of the length of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me like the goblin bee that will not state its sting.