Essential Oils—are Wrung Poem by Emily Dickinson

Essential Oils—are Wrung

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Essential Oils—are wrung—
The Attar from the Rose
Be not expressed by Suns—alone—
It is the gift of Screws—

The General Rose—decay—
But this—in Lady's Drawer
Make Summer—When the Lady lie
In Ceaseless Rosemary—

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
* Sunprincess * 28 November 2015

.........a beautiful capturing the essence of summer ★

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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

Amherst / Massachusetts
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