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Two Poems Betsy Ann McGee NIGHT VISITOR Lord, Honey, don't cross the mountain alone tonight. That old Devil Death is a walkin' these hollows. Hear the crickets cryin', That's a sure sign there'll be a dyin'. Listen, hear that bird tappin' at the window, Spirit callin' Spirit. Honey, Death's a comin' near; I fear it. This morning I dropped my apron, and the broom fell on the floor. Honey, who's that a knockin' at the door? MY GRANDMOTHER BELIEVED IN SIGNS My Grandmother believed in signs, planted potatoes in dark of the moon, beans on the hundredth day of the year never set hens in Dog Days. After supper, she'd sit on the porch breaking beans darning Uncle Lester's socks, No need to water flowers tonight, child, Pink clouds in the West. That Sunday, she rocked hands crossed in her lap: Last night I dreamed of an empty coffin the night before a white swan. Child, you won't see me again, but watch for a white moth flying. I knew before the word came, I heard a white moth call my name. 12 ...

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