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Twas just this time last year I died.

 'Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms -- It had the Tassels on -- I thought how yellow it would look -- When Richard went to mill -- And then, I wanted to get out, But something held my will.
I thought just how Red -- Apples wedged The Stubble's joints between -- And the Carts stooping round the fields To take the Pumpkins in -- I wondered which would miss me, least, And when Thanksgiving, came, If Father'd multiply the plates -- To make an even Sum -- And would it blur the Christmas glee My Stocking hang too high For any Santa Claus to reach The Altitude of me -- But this sort, grieved myself, And so, I thought the other way, How just this time, some perfect year -- Themself, should come to me --

by Emily Dickinson
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