When I count the seeds
40
When I count the seeds
That are sown beneath,
To bloom so, bye and bye—
When I con the people
Lain so low,
To be received as high—
When I believe the garden
Mortal shall not see—
Pick by faith its blossom
And avoid its Bee,
I can spare this summer, unreluctantly.
poem by Emily Dickinson
Added by Poetry Lover
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