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A Birthday Poem
by Emily Dickinson
by Ted Kooser
If those I loved were lost
Just past dawn, the sun stands The Crier's voice would tell me --
with its heavy red head If those I loved were found
in a black stanchion of trees, The bells of Ghent would ring --
waiting for someone to come
with his bucket Did those I loved repose
for the foamy white light, The Daisy would impel me.
and then a long day in the pasture. Philip -- when bewildered
I too spend my days grazing, Bore his riddle in!
feasting on every green moment
till darkness calls,
and with the others
I walk away into the night, Touched by An Angel
swinging the little tin bell
of my name. by Maya Angelou
Funeral Blues
by W. H. Auden
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
by Thomas Moore
by Lord Byron
by Oscar Wilde