164
Mama never forgets her birds,
Though in another tree—
She looks down just as often
And just as tenderly
As when her little mortal nest
With cunning care she wove—
If either of her "sparrows fall,"
She "notices," above.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- The Flower Must Not Blame The Bee
- Went Up A Year This Evening!
- In This Short Life
- If He Were Living—dare I Ask
- If I Should Cease To Bring A Rose