Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
Emily Dickinson.
Labels: Process
posted by annette gulick at 9:11 PM
1 Comments:
I shared this poem with a friend of mine tonight...a friend who lost a child at 6 years old. Amazed at Emily's ability to capture this thought - and grateful for your generosity in sharing it.
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