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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 7, Poema 40
XLI.
THE
FORGOTTEN
GRAVE.
After
a
hundred
years
No
one
knows
the
place,
—
Pain
here
is
still
Like
peace
in
space.
Weeds
grow
tall,
Strangers
walk
and
see
The
lonely
words
Of
the
old
dead.
Summer
winds
remember
The
way,
—
Picking
up
the
key
Memory
drops
today.
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