Home ⇒ 📌Emily Dickinson ⇒ Her face was in a bed of hair
Her face was in a bed of hair
Her face was in a bed of hair,
Like flowers in a plot
Her hand was whiter than the sperm
That feeds the sacred light.
Her tongue more tender than the tune
That totters in the leaves
Who hears may be incredulous,
Who witnesses, believes.
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