(Photo credit: cindy47452)
My Priceless Hay
I cautious, scanned my little life –
I winnowed what would fade
From what would last till Heads like mine
Should be a-dreaming laid.
I put the latter in a Barn –
The former, blew away.
I went one winter morning
And lo – my priceless Hay
Was not upon the “Scaffold” –
Was not upon the “Beam” –
And from a thriving Farmer –
A Cynic, I became.
Whether a Thief did it –
Whether it was the wind –
Whether Deity’s guiltless –
My business, is to find!
So I begin to ransack!
How is it Hearts, with Thee?
Art thou within the little Barn
Love provided Thee?
The Bard on the Hill 
Wonderful photo.
S. Thomas Summers
Author of Private Hercules McGraw: Poems of the American Civil War
It was the first one that came up and I thought, “Bingo!” 🙂
I marvel at Dickinson’s word craft.
Likewise. Her vocabulary was amazing and she had the ability to use the right word at the right time.