| Emily Dickinson | |
’Twas just this time, last year, I died. I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms — It had the Tassels on — I thought how yellow it would look — When Richard went to mill — And then, I wanted to get out, But something held my will. I thought just how Red — Apples wedged The Stubble’s joints between — And the Carts stooping round the fields To take the Pumpkins in — I wondered which would miss me, least, And when Thanksgiving, came, If Father’d multiply the plates — To make an even Sum — And would it blur the Christmas glee My Stocking hang too high For any Santa Claus to reach The Altitude of me — But this sort, grieved myself, And so, I thought the other way, How just this time, some perfect year — Themself, should come to me — |
Christmas Poems: "Twas just this time"
