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If I shouldn't be alive
When the Robins come,
Give the one in Red Cravat,
A Memorial crumb.
If I couldn't thank you,
Being fast asleep,
You will know I'm trying
Why my Granite lip!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- How Many Times These Low Feet Staggered
- The Mystery Of Pain
- In Ebon Box, When Years Have Flown
- Water Makes Many Beds
- There Came A Day At Summer's Full