“Let down the bars, O Death!
The tired flocks come in
Whose bleating ceases to repeat,
Whose wandering is done.
Thine is the stillest night,
Thine the securest fold;”
“Too near thou art for seeking thee,
Too tender to be told.”
-Emily Dickinson
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 1:33 AM UTC