Dickinson

Emily and i are the best of friends,
we spend bright mornings together
singing to her line’s sharp ends;

and i, i hide my jealousy
between the dancing stanzas;
she deserves praise for every elegy,

these great songs spent in cloister
like the hands that poured them out
as pearls hid by suspicious oyster

NOTE: I am not fond of this poem but i’ll put it out there and maybe fix it later.

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