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THEY sent him
back to her. The letter came
Saying… And she could
have him. And before
She could be sure there was no
hidden ill
Under the formal writing, he was in her
sight,
Living. They gave him back to her alive—
How else? They are not known to send the dead—
And
not disfigured visibly. His face?
His hands? She had
to look, and ask,
“What was it, dear?” And she had
given all
And still she had all—they had—they the
lucky!
Wasn’t she glad now? Everything seemed won,
And all the rest for them permissible ease.
She had
to ask, “What was it, dear?”
“Enough,
Yet not
enough. A bullet through and through,
High in the
breast. Nothing but what good care
And medicine and
rest, and you a week,
Can cure me of to go again.”
The same
Grim giving to do over for them both.
She
dared no more than ask him with her eyes
How was it
with him for a second trial.
And with his eyes he
asked her not to ask.
They had given him back to her,
but not to keep.
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