After some three-score years of caterwawling, Here lies a shrew, stopt from above-ground bawling. Tho'ill she liv'd, I dare not read her doom; But sure, go where she will, she's troublesome. I wish her, in revenge, among the blest: For she'd as lief be damn'd, as be at rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE YOUNG MYSTIC by LOUIS UNTERMEYER WORDLY WISE (5) by MOTHER GOOSE NIGHT WATCHERS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PRAIRIE VOICES by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN THEIR VERY MEMORY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |