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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 11, Poema 50
L.
THE
SOUL'S
STORM.
It
hits
me
every
day
The
lightning
is
new
As
if
the
cloud
just
opened
And
let
the
fire
through.
It
burns
me
at
night,
It
hurts
in
my
dream;
It
is
fresh
every
morning
With
the
sun's
beam.
I
think
the
storm
is
short,
—
The
fastest
one;
But
Nature
forgets
the
time,
And
leaves
it
in
the
sky.
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