Maria Drew

she lit the candle, watched the wick kindle but as the flame burst forth the wind by windows fought- But alas! the flame, stabbed wavered for life, but sabbed soon faltered and died. The drapes rise and fall the wind hurries at four wall and another match lit by its glow she saw it- The pale face, withered smile there lies her heart, off a-mile away to the towered end- Yet still the flame died astern. The scream through the night- the call of the wild a-flight as a heart is stabbed anew by the despair of Maria Drew.