She made a little shadow-hidden grave,
The day Faith died;
Therein she laid it, heard the clod’s sick fall,
And smiled aside –
“If less I ask,” tear-blind, she mocked, “I may
Be less denied.”

She set a rose to blossom in her hair,
The day Faith died –
“Now glad,” she said, “and free at last, I go,
And life is wide.”
But through the long nights she stared into the dark,
And knew she lied.


It looks like I made a dA and abandoned it.