She died at play,
Gamboled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turk
Upon a Couch of flowers.
Her ghost strolled softly o’er the hill
Yesterday, and Today,
Her vestments as the silver fleece —
Her countenance as spray.
— Emily Dickinson
To The Lament, who offered me reclamation.
— Madison Rye Progress
Content Notes
Contains mentions of rough, but consensual sex with one vague description; blood; adult characters engaging with the world as children, unrelated to sex; themes of familial abuse.
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