Where is the year’s heart?

VII.


I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too —
And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.

With A Flower, Emily Dickinson

As for me, so fast. Too sudden. And the more with each year I encounter.

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