Death's the lover that I'd be taking; <br />Wild and fickle and fierce is he. <br />Small's his care if my heart be breaking- <br />Gay young Death would have none of me. <br /> <br />Hear them clack of my haste to greet him! <br />No one other my mouth had kissed. <br />I had dressed me in silk to meet him- <br />False young Death would not hold the tryst. <br /> <br />Slow's the blood that was quick and stormy, <br />Smooth and cold is the bridal bed; <br />I must wait till he whistles for me- <br />Proud young Death would not turn his head. <br /> <br />I must wait till my breast is wilted. <br />I must wait till my back is bowed, <br />I must rock in the corner, jilted- <br />Death went galloping down the road. <br /> <br />Gone's my heart with a trifling rover. <br />Fine he was in the game he played- <br />Kissed, and promised, and threw me over, <br />And rode away with a prettier maid.<br /><br />Dorothy Parker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-trifler/
