Explore "The Ballad of the Quick and Dead" by Sheila Kaye-Smith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
And every night I sit alone, / And every night I see / A little cotton-aproned ghost / Who takes no heed of me.
She sets the milk, she sets the bread, / One scarce would know that she was dead -- / But long ago death gave her greeting, / In the great bed whence one can see / The sunset in the cherry tree, / And hear the fold-bound wethers bleating.