Emily Dickinson Poems

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Death is like the insect
Menacing the tree,
Competent to kill it,
But decoyed may be.

Bait it with the balsam,
Seek it with the saw,
Baffle, if it cost you
Everything you are.

Then, if it have burrowed
Out of reach of skill --
Wring the tree and leave it,
'Tis the vermin's will.

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