'T was just this time last year I died. <br /> I know I heard the corn, <br />When I was carried by the farms,-- <br /> It had the tassels on. <br /> <br />I thought how yellow it would look <br /> When Richard went to mill; <br />And then I wanted to get out, <br /> But something held my will. <br /> <br />I thought just how red apples wedged <br /> The stubble's joints between; <br />And carts went stooping round the fields <br /> To take the pumpkins in. <br /> <br />I wondered which would miss me least, <br /> And when Thanksgiving came, <br />If father'd multiply the plates <br /> To make an even sum. <br /> <br />And if my stocking hung too high, <br /> Would it blur the Christmas glee, <br />That not a Santa Claus could reach <br /> The altitude of me? <br /> <br />But this sort grieved myself, and so <br /> I thought how it would be <br />When just this time, some perfect year, <br /> Themselves should come to me.<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/t-was-just-this-time-last-year-i-died/
