A Quoi Bon Dire

Seventeen years ago you said

Something that sounded like goodbye;

And everybody things that you are dead,

But I.

So I, as I grow stiff and cold

To this and that, say Good-bye too;

And everybody sees that I am old

But you.

And one fine morning in a sunny lane

Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear

That nobody can love their way again.

While over there

you will have smiled, I shall have tossed your hair.

— Charlotte Mew

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  • Copyright © 2011-16, Dianne Ebertt Beeaff. All Rights Reserved.
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