Poem by Edith Mirick

Wanton

She had always lived
In hope that she might find
A love to help her up;
But death alone proved kind.

Fate was strangely cruel
To plan that she should miss
(Sleeping over-soundly)
Her first pure kiss.

1. Tragedy
2. Deirdre
3. Home
4. Night Moths
5. Closed Doors

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