No. 645
by Emily Dickinson
Bereavement in their death to feel
Whom We have never seen --
A Vital Kinsmanship import
Our Soul and theirs -- between --
For Strangers -- Strangers do not mourn --
There be Immortal friends
Whom Death see first -- 'tis news of this
That paralyze Ourselves --
Who, vital only to Our Thoughts --
Such Presence bear away
In dying -- 'tis as if Our Souls
Absconded -- suddenly --
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