Friday, July 1, 2011

Poem: Little Edie Beale

In secured scarves but not skirts,
Edie sings and prances from her past
drinking and divulging the High Life.

You ought to be in pictures;
you're wonderful to see.
You ought to be in pictures;
oh, what a hit you would be.

Edie grouses through the Grey Gardens.
A prisoner of mind and mother,
she is a daylily three days gone.


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