Francis Ernley Walrond

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.'