To a Little Lover-Lass, Dead
She
Who searched for lovers
In the night
Has gone the quiet way
Into the still,
Dark land of death
Beyond the rim of day.
Now like a little lonely waif
She walks
An endless street
And gives her kiss to nothingness.
Would God his lips were sweet!
From The Weary Blues (Alfred A. Knopf, 1926) by Langston Hughes. This poem is in the public domain.