Would she have gone to him? Daniel looked off,
Unmindful of the beautiful May morning.
Bruce Hanna, that poor boy. Was he suspicious?
He had been born for Dora, she for him;
And then last New Year’s Eve, when the sleigh bells rang
So slyly, writing ruin in cold air!
Daniel, wiping his hand again, looked back
At the wild barb that bit him.
Who was that?
For a quizzical, small stranger stood by the fence,