Faulty grammar aside, there’s more here than meets the I. But Emily Dickinson? What made me think of her?
For Emily
If the past is a flower,
and has its seasons and dies,
what of the seeds it leaves behind?
and what of you, and I,
dear butterfly?
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Butterflies, Death, Emily Dickinson, Flowers, Meaning, Memory, Poems, Poetry