Friday Evening

She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!

You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you've littered all the East
With duds of emerald!

And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars —
And then I come away.


XL, She sweeps with many colored brooms, by Emily Dickinson


I'll confess to feeling very worn down at the end of this week. Looking forward to some rest this weekend.