Playmates.

A poem by Emily Dickinson

God permits industrious angels
Afternoons to play.
I met one, -- forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightway.

God calls home the angels promptly
At the setting sun;
I missed mine. How dreary marbles,
After playing Crown!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Playmates.' by Emily Dickinson

comments powered by Disqus

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