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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 10, Poema 16
XXIII.
THE
BALLOON.
You
see
balloons
go
up,
right?
They
rise
high
and
slow
Like
big
birds
in
the
sky
With
shiny,
bright
glow.
Their
feet
touch
the
air
soft
On
a
sea
of
gold
light;
They
move
up,
away
from
us
They
are
famous
in
flight.
Their
strings
are
hard
to
see,
They
breathe
and
try
to
stay,
The
people
clap
and
cheer
loud;
They
want
the
balloon
to
play.
The
shiny
balloon
spins
fast,
It
hits
a
tree
and
falls,
It
breaks
and
drops
down
quick
Into
the
sea,
it
calls.
People
leave,
they
are
mad,
Dust
settles
on
the
street,
Workers
in
offices
say,
It
was
just
a
balloon.
The
cricket
sings,
And
the
sun
goes
down.
The
workers
stop,
one
by
one,
Their
work
for
the
day.
The
grass
is
wet
with
dew.
The
twilight
stands
like
a
guest,
With
hat
in
hand,
polite
and
new,
To
stay
or
to
go.
A
big
quiet
comes
like
a
friend,
A
peace
with
no
face
or
name,
And
so
the
night
begins.
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