Emily Dickinson Poem

Is it true, dear Sue?

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Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
I shouldn’t like to come
For fear of joggling Him!
If I could shut him up
In a Coffee Cup,
Or tie him to a pin
Till I got in—
Or make him fast
To “Toby’s” fist—
Hist! Whist! I’d come!

It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon 🌼
Is it dead—Find it

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