Poem 465


Emily Dickinson

I heard a Fly buzz--when I died--

The Stillness in the Room

Was like the Stillness in the Air--

Between the Heaves of Storm--

The Eyes around--had wrung them dry--

And Breaths were gathering firm

For that last Onset--when the King

Be witnessed--in the Room--

I willed my Keepsakes--Signed away

What portion of me be--

Assignable--and then it was

There interposed a Fly--

With Blue--uncertain stumbling Buzz--

Between the light--and me--

And then the Windows failed--and then--

I could not see to see--


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