AH, God, the way your little finger moved As you thrust a bare arm backward And made play with your hair And a comb a silly gilt comb Ah, God -- that I should suffer Because of the way a little finger moved. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH IMPERTURBABLE by CONRAD AIKEN ARCHIMEDES LAST FORAY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET INDEPENDENCE DAY, 1956, A FAIRY TALE by JAMES GALVIN THE MEASURE OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN CURTAIN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |