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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 7, Poema 27
XXVII.
THE
SPIDER.
A
spider
worked
at
night
With
no
light
On
a
white
web.
Was
it
for
a
lady
Or
a
tiny
ghost?
Only
he
knew.
To
live
forever
His
plan
was
His
own
face.
I
know
a
place
where
summer
tries
To
fight
against
the
cold,
Each
year
she
brings
daisies
back,
But
they
are
lost,
she
knows.
When
the
south
wind
moves
the
pools
And
blows
through
the
paths,
She
starts
to
worry
about
her
promise,
And
sings
gentle
songs
Into
the
hard
ground,
With
spices
and
the
dew,
That
turns
quietly
to
stone
Under
her
golden
shoe.
The
one
who
can
make
a
summer
day
again
Is
greater
than
the
day
itself,
they
say.
Even
if
he
is
just
a
tiny
man,
He
is
special
if
he
can
do
that.
And
who
can
make
the
sun
set
again,
With
all
its
colors
and
slow
goodbye,
When
the
East
is
left
behind,
And
the
West
is
a
mystery,
His
name
stays.
The
wind
knocked
like
a
tired
man,
And
I
said,
"Come
in,"
He
came
inside
my
house
With
no
feet
to
walk
in
A
quick
guest
with
no
feet,
I
could
not
give
him
a
chair
It
was
like
giving
a
sofa
To
the
air
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A2 Inglés | Cuentana