Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/108

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
Scrub trees crouched low on mountainside, Their fingers locked and baredUpon black rocks; at base great spruce Stood close and leaned and stared.
The house, with up-curled shingles, hugged The ground, a silent thing,Like a gray bird squatting on its perch In a cage, and cannot sing.
When she went up to bake for him, To tend the house and such,His deafness was a sorry chafe She pitied overmuch.
A day came when he ceased to speak; She did not care, for heWas far more ugly in his speech Than there was need to be.
But when the long days dragged on by Without a word from him,The crumbs of peace fell from her mind As leaves drop from a limb.
At first she zigzagged in her mind 'Twixt old Hen Levy's PlaceAnd his: she knew Four Corners brooked No showing of her face.
And then she planned shrill words to shriek To stab his deafness through;And he would watch, with cunning eye, Her stirred mind's boil and brew.
Then slyly he would egg her on: He'd cup his ear with hand,The while her throat rasped hoarse with words She hoped he's understand.

93

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.