What a Woman Told Me
“You know what I did?” — a woman said — “I ran to a corner.
I had my baby girl in my arms. Poor little mourner,
She was crying, and I was afraid they might hear that sound.
She wasn’t even two months old, not knowing what was around.
Like a tiny fly, my baby — all she could do was weep.
With kisses I tried to hush her, lull her into sleep.
That black night, that’s how we got through.
Behind a bolted door, I hid from view.
She whimpered without pause — oh God, how she cried!
She wanted milk, poor thing, but my breast was dry.
I saw rifles gleam — and tears just poured.
They were hunting my husband, to kill him with their swords.
And when dawn broke, beneath that haunted gate,
The baby grew quiet. Too quiet. It was too late.
I touched her — she was cold, sir.
At that point, they could shoot me. I didn’t care.
With my baby in my arms, I walked — mad with pain.
Someone tried to speak, but I pulled away again.
I ran like a lunatic — I don’t even know where.
With these hands I dug a grave — oh, the nightmare!
Beneath a tree, in a lonely place apart,
That’s where I buried the angel of my heart.
Oh God, how cruel to lay your heart in the ground!
Even her father, standing there, sobbed without a sound.”
