Black Beetles in Amber

As through the blue expanse he skims

On joyous wings, the late

Frank Hutchings overtakes Miss Sims,

Both bound for Heaven's high gate.

In life they loved and (God knows why

A lover so should sue)

He slew her, on the gallows high

Died pious—and they flew.

Her pinions were bedraggled, soiled

And torn as by a gale,

While his were bright—all freshly oiled

The feathers of his tail.

Her visage, too, was stained and worn

And menacing and grim;

His sweet and mild—you would have sworn

That she had murdered him.

When they'd arrived before the gate

He said to her: "My dear,

'Tis hard once more to separate,

But you can't enter here.

"For you, unluckily, were sent

So quickly to the grave

You had no notice to repent,

Nor time your soul to save."

"'Tis true," said she, "and I should wail

In Hell even now, but I

Have lingered round the county jail

To see a Christian die."