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Poem by Stephen Crane


The Way Your Little Finger Moved


AH, God, the way your little finger moved
As you thrust a bare arm backward
And made play with your hair
And a comb a silly gilt comb
Ah, God--that I should suffer
Because of the way a little finger moved. 



                      Stephen Crane


Stephen Crane's other poems:
  1. I heard thee Laugh
  2. Little Birds of the Night


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