During a dark time, I found relief in the poem below. I was lucky enough to have lived a few miles from where Emily Dickinson spent her entire adult life. As many of you know, she would often times shut herself in, upstairs, writing poetry. She would watch the children play from her window perch. Sometimes, she would lower poems down, in a basket from her window to the ground, and give them to the children. Emily had a wonderful heart.
‘Ample make this bed-
Make this bed with Awe-
In it wait till Judgment break
Excellent and Fair.
Be its Mattress straight-
Be its Pillow round-
Let no Sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this Ground-‘
Final Harvest, 341 (829)- Emily Dickson
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