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Poems
A Well-Worn Story
(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967 / Long Branch / New Jersey)

A Well-Worn Story

In April, in April,
My one love came along,
And I ran the slope of my high hill
To follow a thread of song.

His eyes were hard as porphyry
With looking on cruel lands;
His voice went slipping over me
Like terrible silver hands.

Together we trod the secret lane
And walked the muttering town.
I wore my heart like a wet, red stain
On the breast of a velvet gown.

In April, in April,
My love went whistling by,
And I stumbled here to my high hill
Along the way of a lie.

Now what should I do in this place
But sit and count the chimes,
And splash cold water on my face
And spoil a page with rhymes?

User Rating: 3,3 / 5 ( 87 votes ) 26

Comments (26)

An excellent write! And that last line is a real stunner!
A story told in a very interesting way. Loved it.
if we write poetry, a consolation of a bad experience might be a poem we write about it. -gk
Now what should I do in this place But sit and count the chimes, And splash cold water on my face And spoil a page with rhymes? very good poem
Month of April where every step of feeling, every breathing walks by the bloomed flowers of spring, whispers with the butterflies flying..................///
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