ES ( / )

Ben Trovato

The Deacon thought. “I know them,” he began,
“And they are all you ever heard of them—
Allurable to no sure theorem,
The scorn or the humility of man.
You say ‘Can I believe it?’—and I can;
And I’m unwilling even to condemn
The benefaction of a stratagem
Like hers—and I’m a Presbyterian.

“Though blind, with but a wandering hour to live,
He felt the other woman in the fur
That now the wife had on. Could she forgive
All that? Apparently. Her rings were gone,
Of course; and when he found that she had none,
He smiled—as he had never smiled at her.”

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Comments (9)

I could not see the art.
Flesh! ! ! ! Kingdom! ! Desire! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Blindfolded pinpoint soul with fire Sire, I see it aflame at star away distance, Like super Nova with mighty insistence - very fine poem .. God - tony
Making something out of nothing is quite a miracle.. A ten..
i don't get it. bri
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