Under Her Dark Veil

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    Under Her Dark Veil

     Under her dark veil she wrung her hands.
    "Why are you so pale today?"
    "Because I made him drink of stinging grief
    Until he got drunk on it.
    How can I forget? He staggered out,
    His mouth twisted in agony.
    I ran down not touching the bannister

    And caught up with him at the gate.
    I cried: 'A joke!
    That's all it was. If you leave, I'll die.'
    He smiled calmly and grimly
    And told me: 'Don't stand here in the wind.' "

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    deadlybunny’s Poems (29)

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