Summer 1944 • Vol. VI No. 3 Poetry |

Funeral

They may go to the beach straight from the funeral,You may not be able to reach them by any call,They may not go home at all. They may run in the sand in the stickers and the swellTheir thought of the dead again and again more pale,Putting him farther in town where you will call. Out from themselves in the spray they may go awayAnd pay no mind to what you want to say,And attend in the end the longer limp laming and lingeringfuneral.

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Deed

By Josephine Miles

They may go to the beach straight from the funeral,You may not be able to reach them by any call,They may not go home at all. They may run in […]

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