Treasure Island

Joseph Charles Kennedy


Little Elegy


(for a child who skipped rope)

Here lies resting, out of breath,
Out of turns, Elizabeth
Whose quicksilver toes not quite
Cleared the whirring edge of night.

Earth whose circles round us skim
Till they catch the lightest limb,
Shelter now Elizabeth
And for her sake trip up Death.

Submitted: Monday, August 25, 2014

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