EMILY DICKINSON'S DAY
Dec. 9, 1830

Dusk covers Amherst
the Autumn wind
has made the Oak
leafless and scattered
as acorns fall around my feet
as students and I
present hyacinth
at your burial ground,
for your December ninth
we hear tiny sparrows sound
and we stood around and recited
by startled whisper of willows
not willing to leave or depart
without sounding out
a few of your verses
by the nests of tiny birds
who linger for bread
near an Evergreen
called so many names-
minister, singer, spinster, sister
who will always be read
by those with a willing ear,
though the skies may change
their colors in a robed night
and the seasons record
critics who favor you,
we dispatch every pardon
catching us in a first light's span
here in this patch of garden
the sun is out for you, Emily
whose words rise like fire
out of the late Fall ashes
as long as we desire.