Fletcher McGee
SHE took my strength by minutes, | |
She took my life by hours, | |
She drained me like a fevered moon | |
That saps the spinning world. | |
The days went by like shadows, | 5 |
The minutes wheeled like stars. | |
She took the pity from my heart, | |
And made it into smiles. | |
She was a hunk of sculptor’s clay, | |
My secret thoughts were fingers: | 10 |
They flew behind her pensive brow | |
And lined it deep with pain. | |
They set the lips, and sagged the cheeks, | |
And drooped the eyes with sorrow. | |
My soul had entered in the clay, | 15 |
Fighting like seven devils. | |
It was not mine, it was not hers; | |
She held it, but its struggles | |
Modeled a face she hated, | |
And a face I feared to see. | 20 |
I beat the windows, shook the bolts. | |
I hid me in a corner— | |
And then she died and haunted me, | |
And hunted me for life. |