470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger`s end— The Carmine—tingles warm— And if I hold a Glass Across my Mouth—it blurs it— Physician`s—proof of Breath— I am alive—because I am not in a Room— The Parlor—Commonly—it is— So Visitors may come— And lean—and view it sidewise— And add "How cold—it grew"— And "Was it conscious—when it stepped In Immortality?" I am alive—because I do not own a House— Entitled to myself—precise— And fitting no one else— And marked my Girlhood`s name— So Visitors may know Which Door is mine—and notSourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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