Dorothy Parker

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

The Second Oldest Story - Poem by Dorothy Parker

Go I must along my ways
Though my heart be ragged,
Dripping bitter through the days,
Festering, and jagged.
Smile I must at every twinge,
Kiss, to time its throbbing;
He that tears a heart to fringe
Hates the noise of sobbing.

Weep, my love, till Heaven hears;
Curse and moan and languish.
While I wash your wound with tears,
Ease aloud your anguish.
Bellow of the pit in Hell
Where you're made to linger.
There and there and well and well-
Did he prick his finger!


Comments about The Second Oldest Story by Dorothy Parker

  • Susan Williams (3/26/2016 2:55:00 PM)


    Biting? Oh, yeah. By big chomps. Addicted? I'd say she was addicted to the same dark lover over and over again. Drawn to him, she pricks her finger on that self-same spindle time after time. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: kiss, smile, heaven, heart, time, hate, wind



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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