A poem for the last days of September
These are the days when Birds come back-
A very few-a Bird or two-
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old-old sophistries of June-
A blue and gold mistake.
O fraud that cannot cheat the bee-
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear-
And softly thro’ the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze-
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake-
Thy consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
by Emily Dickinson, c. 1859
Every year at about this time, I get Emily in my head for days on end. Truly, that woman rocked the universe.
A very few-a Bird or two-
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old-old sophistries of June-
A blue and gold mistake.
O fraud that cannot cheat the bee-
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear-
And softly thro’ the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze-
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake-
Thy consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
by Emily Dickinson, c. 1859
Every year at about this time, I get Emily in my head for days on end. Truly, that woman rocked the universe.