The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean.
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The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean.
A Travelling Flake of Snow
Across a Barn or through a Rut
Debates if it will go —
A Narrow Wind complains all Day
How some one treated him
Nature, like Us is sometimes caught
Without her Diadem.
| Poetry by Emily Dickinson (edit list): | |
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