Here you will find the Poem Eve of poet Francis Ernley Walrond
The gray of the morning Creeps in the room like fear. It is growing lighter, But I sit crouched and shivering. I dare not look at the bed, Lest I laugh -- Or curse God. How does it happen? Yesterday my wife, And now -- a strange thing -- Anything -- nothing. A body without breath, Arms without warmth, Lips without kisses. 'Eve' was her name, And the strangest part is That I want to call -- 'Eve, Come and look at this thing That lies on your bed And looks so like you.'