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. | 
 
 
 
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