To get even, concluded he’d sing for a bit.
THE SONG OF THE WITLING
She pouts, but yesterday she smiled,
And since that moment I have whiled
Away the hours with hope and doubt
And see the lips that smile and pout.
So high at times she holds her head,
I feel a certain awe or dread,
But when she smiles, I know not why,
Her head seems never held so high.