What the Sun thinks about the Moon.

Once again, Emily Dickinson takes something everyday and makes it grand by her words.

 

# 909

I make His Crescent fill or lack –

His Nature is at Full

Or Quarter – as I signify –

His Tides – do I control –

 

He holds superior in the Sky

Or gropes, at my Command

Behind inferior Clouds – or round

A Mist’s slow Colonnade –

 

But since We hold a Mutual Disc –

And front a Mutual Day –

Which is the Despot, neither knows –

Now Whose – the Tyranny –

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