Summer 1945 • Vol. VII No. 3 Poetry |

On the Death of Some One Close

Neither the least nor the most Sorrow is becoming In this instance. A certain gravity, A solemn pose denoting Grief well-borne Is probably correct. At parties be reserved. Restrain the raucous chuckle And the dirty joke. Drink less, Incline to thoughtfulness, And dance, dance Those melancholy tunes. At night, of course, alone, A little more abandon Is permissible. A tear perhaps, Or holding back a tear, Or simple wide-eyed torture — May be correct. Whatever the time and the place Remember the fact of shock.

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