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(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967 / Long Branch / New Jersey)

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Wail

Love has gone a-rocketing.
That is not the worst;
I could do without the thing,
And not be the first.

Joy has gone the way it came.
That is nothing new;
I could get along the same, --
Many people do.

Dig for me the narrow bed,
Now I am bereft.
All my pretty hates are dead,
And what have I left?

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


Read poems about / on: joy, people, love, hate

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