You'll find—it when you try to die

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You'll find—it when you try to die—
The Easier to let go—
For recollecting such as went—
You could not spare—you know.

And though their places somewhat filled—
As did their Marble names
With Moss—they never grew so full—
You chose the newer names—

And when this World—sets further back—
As Dying—say it does—
The former love—distincter grows—
And supersedes the fresh—

And Thought of them—so fair invites—
It looks too tawdry Grace
To stay behind—with just the Toys
We bought—to ease their place—

poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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