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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 6, Poema 31
XXXV.
THE
RAT.
The
rat
is
a
small
tenant.
He
pays
no
rent,
He
does
not
care,
He
has
plans.
He
is
hard
to
catch
Or
to
stop,
We
cannot
hurt
A
quiet
foe.
No
rule
stops
him,
He
is
free,
Like
balance.
The
woods
are
often
pink,
And
often
they
are
brown;
The
hills
change
their
clothes
Behind
my
hometown.
A
hill
has
a
top
I
often
see,
And
sometimes
a
gap
Where
it
used
to
be.
They
say
the
earth
spins,
It
turns
around,
This
amazing
spin
Takes
just
twelve
hours!
The
wind
starts
to
move
the
grass
It
makes
a
loud
sound
It
sends
a
big
warning
To
the
earth
and
the
sky
Leaves
fall
from
the
trees
They
fly
everywhere
The
dust
moves
like
hands
It
covers
the
road
Wagons
go
fast
on
the
street
Thunder
moves
slow
Lightning
looks
like
a
yellow
bird
Then
a
big
claw
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A1 Inglés | Cuentana