Poems (White)/Superstition
SUPERSTITION
She burned a match to see, you know; His love for her would thereby show. "He loves me not," she said, and sighed. A voice replied, "You'll be my bride." Another match—it burned not through "'Tis so, I know, the match tells true; He loves me not, again, you see." "Those matches do not speak to thee; They cannot tell you what is true, For I am here, and I love you."