The Hour of Lead

A friend sent this poem by Emily Dickinson to me yesterday and I thought I would share it with you today. If the labour pains of life have left you in a heap on the floor, I hope you will find some comfort in knowing that someone else has been there and knows how you feel. Be kind and gentle with yourself and rest for while.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes -
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs -
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round -
Of Ground or Air or Ought -
A Wooden Way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone -

This is the Hour of Lead -
Remembered, if out lived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow -
First - Chill then Stupor - then the letting go -,
Emily Dickinson