Poems (White)/Superstition
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SUPERSTITION
She burned a match to see, you know;
His love for her would thereby show.
"He loves me not," she said, and sighed.
A voice replied, "You'll be my bride."
Another match—it burned not through
"'Tis so, I know, the match tells true;
He loves me not, again, you see."
"Those matches do not speak to thee;
They cannot tell you what is true,
For I am here, and I love you."
His love for her would thereby show.
"He loves me not," she said, and sighed.
A voice replied, "You'll be my bride."
Another match—it burned not through
"'Tis so, I know, the match tells true;
He loves me not, again, you see."
"Those matches do not speak to thee;
They cannot tell you what is true,
For I am here, and I love you."