This struck a chord with me.....thought I'd share with the OW/OM

[MistyK]

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so

 

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so—

'Tis Living—hurts us more—

But Dying—is a different way—

A Kind behind the Door—

 

The Southern Custom—of the Bird—

That ere the Frosts are due—

Accepts a better Latitude—

We—are the Birds—that stay.

 

The Shrivers round Farmers' doors—

For whose reluctant Crumb—

We stipulate—till pitying Snows

Persuade our Feathers Home.

 

-Emily Dickinson

[spiraling downward]

That's very nice and sad and all that... my question to the birds that stay... What kind of bird were you?

[Lyssa]

Thanks for sharing, MistyK.