The traces of a lost friend are keenly felt in the material things they once touched.
Death sets a Thing significant
The Eye had hurried by
Except a perished Creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little workmanships
In Crayon — or in wool —
With “This was last Her fingers did” —
Industrious until —
The Thimble weighed too heavy —
The stitches stopped — themselves —
And then ’twas put among the Dust
Opon the Closet shelves —
A Book I have — a friend gave —
Whose Pencil — here and there —
Had notched the place that pleased Him —
At Rest — His fingers are —
Now — when I read — I read not —
For interrupting Tears —
Obliterate the Etchings
Too Costly for Repairs —
Read the analysis of the poem here:
