Spring 1964 • Vol. XXVI No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1964 |

A Dead Girl

A cold perfection clings Only a moment. Smile, Caught napping for awhile, At us, who think such things As faces matter now, And have rouged yours the pink Of youth. Your shuttered brow Watches the roses shrink. The casket closed, you are Only a burden. More Than six will bear you, bore You over the years as far As they will bear the black Lid of the clock through change, But cannot bring you back You have become so strange.

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From the Other Side

By John Taylor

A cold perfection clings Only a moment. Smile, Caught napping for awhile, At us, who think such things As faces matter now, And have rouged yours the pink Of youth. […]

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