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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 9, Poema 45
XLIV.
A
bone
that
has
no
marrow;
What
is
its
fate?
It
is
not
fit
for
table,
For
beggar,
or
for
cat.
A
bone
has
duties,
A
being
does
too;
A
bone
without
marrow
Is
more
shameful
than
you.
How
can
finished
creatures
Find
a
new
role?
—
Old
Nicodemus'
ghost
Challenges
us
once
more!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana