Emily Dickinson - 1096 lyrics

A narrow Fellow in the Gra** Occasionally rides – You may have met him? Did you not His notice instant is – The Gra** divides as with a Comb – A spotted Shaft is seen, And then it closes at your Feet And opens further on – He likes a Boggy Acre – A Floor too cool for Corn – But when a Boy and Barefoot I more than once at Noon Have pa**ed I thought a Whip Lash Unbraiding in the Sun When stooping to secure it It wrinkled And was gone – Several of Nature's People I know and they know me I feel for them a transport Of Cordiality But never met this Fellow Attended or alone Without a tighter Breathing And Zero at the Bone.