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Beclouded
by:
Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)
The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of
snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.
A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
Nature
, like us, is sometimes caught
Without her diadem.
More
poems by Emily Dickinson