Crumple
The ground hits her
A Cry
Across a moor
An echo
Chilled hearts to hearers
Desolate
The night draws on
Lying
Dawn cracks open
Discovery
A serving-girl
The wind wails with her
The house, the moor, the trees
What they have to tell
What part they play
Unknown
That way remains
Always
Household
Running to scene
Too late
Renewed discovery
Grief
A disguise for
Thoughts
A sea of them
Constant
Still controversial
Verdict-Suicide
Lying before their very eyes
Failure
To notice
Slip
Paper scrawled with
Black
A woman’s hand
The same hand
That can take
Life
Among other things
Poison
That slip
In it enclosed
A tale
Of a life
That ended
Too soon
