Twins of Curl

I took a girl
for a whirl,
and I found her
to be quite nice.
She said,
“Call me Red,”
so I did,
and we married
in the Fall.

Winifred Wright
Winifred Wright

Pretty, and pretty bold,
nearly fifteen years old:
a vow, a kiss,
a ring of gold,
loving, pure, and true,
she said, “I do,”
so we did,
then babies,
one and two.

Twins of curl,
Rose and Pearl,
still-birthed murderers;
the midwife said,
“I’m sorry your daughters
are dead
—the twins are dead—
your dear wife too...
three souls departed.”

My darling Red,
lost in childbirth and blood,
one year married,
now under the apple tree
buried,
one marker, one grave,
nearby to me.

As blossoms fall,
and white blankets all,
may my girls be
eternally free.
“Rest in peace,
Rose and Pearl,
in the cold arms
of my Winifred,
beloved wife and mother.”

Montgomery Stevens 1886

Next Post Previous Post