We like march, his shoes are purple,
We like March, his shoes are purple,
He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
Makes he forest dry;
Knows the adder's tongue his coming,
And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
Bold it were to die
With the blue-birds buccaneering
On his British sky.
Emily Dickinson's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (We like march, his shoes are purple, by Emily Dickinson )
Did you read them?
- Every Poem Reveals Another Kind Of Sadness, Shalom Freedman
- Gramophone- Erotic Haiku Poetry, Krishna Shivkumar yadav
- Dangerous Attraction, Sandra Feldman
- Dogmatic is not charismatic, Aftab Alam
- The Soul Killer~, Monk E. Biz
- You are young, hasmukh amathalal
- Poetry, Jesus James Llorico
- Do not ask, hasmukh amathalal
- My View of Heaven, Von Kimball Barney
- Forlorn Child., Marcondes Pereira