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Elizabeth Madox Roberts

By This Poet

1

The Pilaster

The church has pieces jutting out 
Where corners of the walls begin. 
I have one for my little house, 
And I can feel myself go in. 

I feel myself go in the bricks, 
And I can see myself in there. 
I'm always waiting all alone, 
I'm sitting on a little chair. 

And I am sitting very still, 
And I am waiting on and on 
For something that is never there, 
For something that is gone.