Dust is the only Secret
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"—
Bold as a Brigand!
Stiller than a Fleet!
Builds, like a Bird, too!
Christ robs the Nest—
Robin after Robin
Smuggled to Rest!
Emily Dickinson's Other Poems
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