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The Way Your Little Finger Moved: Poem by Stephen Crane

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AH, God, the way your little finger moved
As you thrust a bare arm backward
And made play with your hair
And a comb a silly gilt comb
Ah, God--that I should suffer
Because of the way a little finger moved.

Analysis of this poem

More verses by Stephen Crane

  • Why?
  • No Violets
  • Once There Was A Man
  • Mystic Shadow
  • Three Little Birds In A Row

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