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How happy I was if I could forget
To remember how sad I am
Would be an easy adversity
But the recollecting of Bloom
Keeps making November difficult
Till I who was almost bold
Lose my way like a little Child
And perish of the cold.
Lose my way like a little Child And perish of the cold. Nicely written, thanks poet.
This poem is interesting to me. Emily is usually up beat and never morbid even when she writes about death. Yet here she is writing about depression and wishing to be rid of it.
That was really nice Emily. I loved everything. Your poems are amazing!