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Dust is the only Secret
Emily Dickinson
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.” Nobody know “his Father”— Never was a Boy— Hadn’t any playmates, Or “Early history”— Industrious! Laconic! Punctual! Sedate! Bold as a Brigand! Stiller than a Fleet! Builds, like a Bird, too! Christ robs the Nest— Robin after Robin Smuggled to Rest!
