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I was the slightest in the House—
I took the smallest Room—
At night, my little Lamp, and Book—
And one Geranium—
So stationed I could catch the Mint
That never ceased to fall—
And just my Basket—
Let me think—I'm sure—
That this was all—
I never spoke—unless addressed—
And then, 'twas brief and low—
I could not bear to live—aloud—
The Racket shamed me so—
And if it had not been so far—
And any one I knew
Were going—I had often thought
How noteless—I could die—
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Comments
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Isn't it weird how when we are the smallest we always like to be the quietest, something I suppose that bigger people make you feel, a very powerfully written piece....I think I will have to read more of Emily, this is only about the third piece.
Sanity
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