Thursday, September 30, 2004

Respect for a loss


Turn down a glass afore his place;

Draw up the dog-eared chair;

For though we shall not see his face,

I think he will be here

Our wedding day to share.

Turn up the glass where she would be

And put a red rose there.

Her quick, grey eyes we cannot see,

But weren't they everywhere,

And shall not they be here?

Though them old blids are in the grave

And their good light's gone out,

We'd sooner their kind ghosties have

Than all the living rout

As will be there no doubt.

For some are dead as cannot die.

Some flown as cannot flee.

You still do fancy 'em near by.

'Tis so with him and she,

At any rate to we.

-- Eden Philpotts

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