Muriel Stuart

Sic Transit

‘What did she leave?’ . . .
Only these hungry miser-words, poor heart!
Not ‘Did she love?’ ‘Did she suffer?’ ‘Was she sad
From this green, bright and tossing world to part?’
No word of ‘Do they miss her? do they grieve?’
Only this wolf-thought for the gold she had . . .
‘What did she leave?’
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