We Stand Together, Indivisible......

|
. |
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing,
Eyes-- I wonder if It weighs like Mine-- Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long-- Or did it
just begin-- I could not tell the Date of Mine-- It feels so old a pain--
I wonder if it hurts to live-- And
if They have to try-- And whether--could They choose between-- It would not be--to die--
I note that Some--gone
patient long-- At length, renew their smile-- An imitation of a Light That has so little Oil--
I wonder if
when Years have piled-- Some Thousands--on the Harm-- That hurt them early--such a lapse Could give them any Balm--
Or would they go on aching still Through Centuries of Nerve-- Enlightened to a larger Pain-- In Contrast
with the Love--
The Grieved--are many--I am told-- There is the various Cause-- Death--is but one--and comes
but once-- And only nails the eyes--
There's Grief of Want--and grief of Cold-- A sort they call "Despair"--
There's Banishment from native Eyes-- In Sight of Native Air--
And though I may not guess the kind-- Correctly--yet
to me A piercing Comfort it affords In passing Calvary--
To note the fashions--of the Cross-- And how they're
mostly worn-- Still fascinated to presume That Some--are like My Own--
Emily Dickinson. 1830-1886
|
 |


|
 |
 |
 |
Find the cost of freedom,
buried in the ground, Mother Earth will swallow you, Lay
your body down.
Stephen Stills. 1945-
|
|
 |
 |
 |
|
|