The
old moon winked a knowing wink
As he smiled upon the two;
Their
boat drew near the sheltered brink,
And they, too, closer drew.
“You
say you reverence women fair?”
– Her voice betrayed no fun –
“I
reverence them because, Miss Clare,
My mother dear was one.
“Ah,
then, dear George,” – a thrilling pause! –
The petite maid began;
“I
love a man – the men – because
My father was a man.”
Aug. 20, ‘93
Pub.
in Courier,
March 11, ‘94
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