A Snake.

A poem by Emily Dickinson

Sweet is the swamp with its secrets,
Until we meet a snake;
'T is then we sigh for houses,
And our departure take
At that enthralling gallop
That only childhood knows.
A snake is summer's treason,
And guile is where it goes.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'A Snake.' by Emily Dickinson

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy