Three Epitaphs

For My Grandmother

This lovely flower fell to seed.

Work gently, sun and rain-

She held it as her dying creed

That she would grow again.

Countée P. Cullen

For a Virgin Lady

For forty years I shunned the lust

Inherent in my clay:

Death only was so amorous

I let him have his way.

A Lady I Know

She thinks that even up in heaven

Her class lies late and snores,

While poor black cherubs rise at seven

To do celestial chores.

Countée P. Cullen