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 AUDACIOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WORDS INTO WORDS WON'T GO by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: DOMESDAY BOOK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HATCHING; FOR DAW AUNG SAN SUU KYI by KAREN SWENSON MY HEART IS HEAVY by SARA TEASDALE |