Wail

by

Dorothy Parker


Love has gone a-rocketing.

That is not the worst;

I could do without the thing,

And not be the first.


Joy has gone the way it came.

That is nothing new;

I could get along the same—

Many people do.


Dig for me the narrow bed,

Now I am bereft.

All my pretty hates are dead,

And what have I left?



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