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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 6, Poema 36
XLIV.
MY
CRICKET.
In
summer,
more
than
birds,
A
sound
comes
from
grass.
A
small
group
sings,
But
they
do
it
quietly.
No
big
rules
are
here,
Their
song
is
slow
and
nice.
It
feels
like
a
quiet
friend,
And
makes
alone
time
bigger.
Old
sounds
come
at
noon,
In
hot
August
days.
This
soft
song
calls
out,
And
makes
us
feel
calm.
No
change
in
the
light,
No
lines
on
the
warm
ground.
But
something
old
and
special
Makes
nature
feel
new
now.
Summer
leaves
very
slowly
Summer
goes
away
quietly
It
does
not
feel
bad
The
day
is
calm
now
Like
afternoon
alone
Night
comes
early
now
Morning
feels
different
Summer
goes
without
a
sound
Into
the
pretty
world
It
is
not
summer
now;
It
is
too
early
for
spring.
There
is
a
long
town
of
white
Before
the
blackbirds
sing.
It
is
not
dying
now;
The
dead
wear
white
clothes.
So
the
sunset
stops
my
question
With
bright,
shiny
stones.
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