1 <br /> <br />For all the words dished up, <br />A plate without meat. Maybe, bone. <br />No love fattened you, <br />never used your flesh. <br />Green as grass you stayed. <br />Dauntless, no narrow fellow passed. <br /> <br />2 <br /> <br />This talk of death, dear Emily, <br />I know it intimately - plain talk <br />describes it best, as you know, <br />this Mystery grotesque - <br />concreteness like tombs hard in <br />the eye or that slant of light <br />obscured by a fly. <br /> <br />OK. It's done now. And ever will be, <br />for all the words in green <br />afternoons cannot evade mortality - <br />and soul no more than that butterfly be, <br />I laugh to call it Eternity that waits <br />beneath this plank, that other room <br />where a coach kindly stopped, <br />dropped you, yellow wing, still and <br />dark, now daunted and alone.<br /><br />Warren Falcon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-all-the-words-dished-up-two-for-emily-dickinson/
