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It’s coming—the postponeless Creature
Emily Dickinson
390 It’s coming—the postponeless Creature— It gains the Block—and now—it gains the Door— Chooses its latch, from all the other fastenings— Enters—with a “You know Me—Sir”? Simple Salute—and certain Recognition— Bold—were it Enemy—Brief—were it friend— Dresses each House in Crape, and Icicle— And carries one—out of it—to God—
