In the words of Emily Dickinson: Americanists will hear a fly buzz when they die ...
I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me
Could make assignable, - and then
There interposed a fly,
With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.
Find additional versions of this poem via Google.
Find books by and about Emily Dickinson @ Amazon.
Alternatively, go back to my List of Tauben.Christian Taube, <christian at taube-online.de>