The End of Love
Now he is dead
How should I know
My true love's arms
From wind and snow?
No man I meet
In field or house
Though in the street
A hundred pass.
The hurrying dust
Has never a face,
No longer human
In man or woman.
Now he is gone
Why should I mourn
My true love more than mud,
than mud or stone?
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
Added by Poetry Lover
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