Emily Dickinson Poem

The dying need but little, dear,–

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The dying need but little, dear,–
A glass of water’s all,
A flower’s unobtrusive face
To punctuate the wall,

A fan, perhaps, a friend’s regret,
And certainly that one
No color in the rainbow
Perceives when you are gone.

The face I carry with me—last
The Dust behind I strove to join

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