Emily Dickinson Poem

We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s Act

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We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s Act—
And later—when we die—
A little Water supplicate—
Of fingers going by—

It intimates the finer want—
Whose adequate supply
Is that Great Water in the West—
Termed Immortality—

We'll pass without the parting
We should not mind so small a flower

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