POSTHUMOUS POEMS
XI
I meant of course to go with him—as far as I pleased—but first
To see how my old man liked it—I thought perhaps he might burst.
I didn't wish it—but still it's a blessed release for a wife—
And he saw that I thought so—and grinned in derision—and threatened my life
If I made wry faces—and so I took just a sip—and he—
Well—you know how it ended—he didn't get over me.
I meant of course to go with him—as far as I pleased—but first
To see how my old man liked it—I thought perhaps he might burst.
I didn't wish it—but still it's a blessed release for a wife—
And he saw that I thought so—and grinned in derision—and threatened my life
If I made wry faces—and so I took just a sip—and he—
Well—you know how it ended—he didn't get over me.
XII
Terrible, isn't it? Still, on reflection, it might have been worse.
He might have been the unhappy survivor, and followed my hearse.
"Never do it again?" Why certainly not. You don't
Suppose I should think of it, surely? But anyhow—there—I won't.
Terrible, isn't it? Still, on reflection, it might have been worse.
He might have been the unhappy survivor, and followed my hearse.
"Never do it again?" Why certainly not. You don't
Suppose I should think of it, surely? But anyhow—there—I won't.
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