On remembrance of a personal day, December 13th, 1993, fourteen years ago.
On this long storm the Rainbow rose—
On this late Morn—the Sun—
The clouds—like listless Elephants—
The Birds rose smiling, in their nests—
The gales—indeed—were done—
Alas, how heedless were the eyes—
On whom the summer shone!
The quiet nonchalance of death—
No Daybreak—can bestir—
The slow—Archangel's syllables
Must awaken her!
Emily Dickinson, 194.