Poem of the day – I think just how my shape will rise by Emily Dickinson

I think just how my shape will riseWhen I shall be forgiven,Till hair and eyes and timid headAre out of sight, in heaven.
I think just how my lips will weighWith shapeless, quivering prayerThat you, so late, consider me,The sparrow of your care.
I mind me that of anguish sent,Some drifts were moved awayBefore my simple bosom broke, –And why not this, if they?
And so, until delirious borneI con that thing, — forgiven, –Till with long fright and longer trustI drop my heart,

Daily Motivation