What Is The Monologue Of Poor Mary Mae

The final stanza is a rhyming couplet that summarises the grief and emptiness and the lack of will to go on without his mother. “Feeling that the story ends just here” conveys the idea that there isn't a story to continue without his mother, showing how depressed McMillan is feeling, like he has reached a dead end in his

In the first stanza of “Who Makes the Journey,” Song introduces the life of a widow and a widower in a sad, soft tone. “In most cases, it is the old woman who makes the journey; the old man having had the sense to stay put and die at home” (Song, 1-6).

Its call to its mate caused him to long for Allie. Although they had only been husband and wife a week now, he felt as if they had always been together… she was the breath in his lungs… the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart… she was all those things and more. He did not want to endanger her by moving her out of Charleston, but he would have to figure a way for them to be together more often. As he stood, staring out into the darkness, the quietness of the night resonated deep within him. In the distance, he thought he heard the low bump of a drum and then the sound of a flute trembling through the night its soothing sound wavering upon the light breeze that blew from the west…

In The History of Mary Prince, an autobiography of a former Caribbean slave Mary Prince, Prince shows readers how she resists slavery and its oppressive rule. Published in 1831, Prince uses her autobiography as anti-slavery propaganda and shows the struggles of every slave. Through the autobiography, Prince portrays her resistance to cruelty and immorality while being enslaved by horrid masters. Although she was not always overtly resistant in her earlier days as a sl, Prince illustrates her rebellion through the publishing of her autobiography, marriage, religious conversion, opposition to removal from England, and physical and verbal resistance. With the help of those that surrounded her in England, Prince exposes her readers to the true,

After clearing the grass and weeds away from the grave, he wiped his forehead with a dirty handkerchief. Placing his fingers on his lips, and then onto the cold, hard stone. He sat on a nearby bench, and bowed his head, “The town is different since you’ve been gone. The older people have passed away and their children moved to the city never to visit Howardsville, let alone come back here to live.” The old man spoke as if she was sitting beside him.

Early in their lives, two young sisters, Ruth and Lucille, experience loss and abandonment from the men in the family. Their grandfather had died in a train derailment into Lake Fingerbone before they were born, and their father leaves them while they are very young. Then their mother commits suicide, but not before dropping the girls off on their grandmother’s porch. Moreover, then, “she sailed in Bernice’s Ford from the top of a cliff named Whiskey Rock into the blackest depth of the lake (23), again into Lake Fingerbone. After only a few months their grandmother dies leaving the girls to the remainder of the family, a collection of eccentric females. The girls deal with all of this by relying on each other. Soon, their great Aunt’s,

It’s been a while since I've written of him. I thought slowly but surely he would be buried in my past, and become but a memory, farthest back in my mind. But heaven forbid i move on with my life, he visited my dream last night, and all the emotion, all of… all of him rushed back. Everything was bright, everything was glowing. Three knocks on the door and I knew already who it was. Giddy with excitement I ran to the door and opened it to find my true love on the door step. He was wearing his army uniform, looked as young as the day i met him, as beautiful as ever, and he smiled tipped his hat and said “Ms. Daisy Fay may I have this dance?” And suddenly we were in his house, at one of his parties, so many people, so much music, but all i could hear was him, all i could feel was him, all that mattered was us.

Twelve long, gloomy days since our departure from beyond the frozen lakes the walls easts watch with each passing day it's seldom easy to not look back.

Music played an important role in the daily life of pioneers; as the journey was physically rigorous, emotionally draining as well as boring, music helped emigrants cope with these experiences by providing a distraction that was community-oriented with words that reflected internal feelings and familiar melodies of home. For women, singing helped express the despondency they felt about arrival in the west; singing around a campfire, when possible, was a social way to end a long day of travel and helped offset melancholy (Schlissel, 179). In 1849, a young woman named Catherine Haun and her husband decided to head out west; her account of the journey west describes the importance of music as a way to keep spirits up and stave off depression: “The familiar tunes that he played upon his harmonica seemed to soften the groaning and creaking of the wagons and to shorten the long miles of the mountain road (Schlissel, 179).” Later on, this image of singing around a campfire would become deeply embedded in American pop culture. However, popular songs of the 1850s also depicted the victorian ideal of a “good death” as something that occurred in the home or with the family--a victorian ideal of a respectable, Christian death surrounded by friends and family in the home (Schlissel, 131). Pioneer family and friends gathered beside the deathbed in order to comfort the dying, and popular music reflected the desire for this in a life where death from disease or other threats was constant (Schlissel,

Walt Whitman’s poetry embodies the changes taking place in America during and after the Civil War. He experiences them firsthand as a Civil War nurse. In the poems, “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” and “A Child Said What is the Grass?”. Whitman talks about both population growth, and the many deaths during the Civil War. He sees life and death as a cycle, and examines life after the life of an individual.

As I sat alone in my bedroom listened to the rains pitter patter on my roof I thought about my childhood alongside my sister Myrtle. We grew up next to the cows and horses in the dirt fields and like every other girl, my sister dreamed of her prince to one day find her, and sweep her off to a castle of their own. Every day Myrtle started off with one piece of toast cut into two triangles, reading her comics to me, while drinking a glass of orange juice. Both of our parents shared the kitchen with

“So...” Sam said slowly as he looked at Jim. Sam now spoke and looked as if he was a prosecuting attorney examining the accused on the witness stand. “It 's Mary now?!”

Small drops of rain fell from the gray clouds outside the funeral home window. How fitting. This is the perfect weather for a funeral, isn’t it? Gloomy, dark, you name it. It didn’t matter though. No one was affected by the sound of the rain. Nobody cared. Everybody, including me, was too busy missing Margaret Grace. If only Margaret Grace was still here. She loved the rain because there would always be a rainbow after.

Someone was movin’ into Mrs. Dirk 's old house, she had died many years back. She used to rock in her rocking chair on the porch. I remember she was a kind, old widow. Me and Hattie used to play in her old costumes: her hats, jewelry, and her dance shoes. She’d tell us stories of when she was in the Harlem Renaissance, she would show us pictures. She was beautiful. She was eighty-nine when she died. Now someone was movin’ into her old house. We watched the big, green truck drive up the dirt road and up the hill where Mrs. Dirk’s house sat. Me and Hattie watched behind the old wooden fence.

There Ella stood amongst the crowd on a windy summer day, the sun was shining bright and the birds were chirping. It was a perfect day, but to the people in the crowd nothing was perfect about this day. She looked around and all she could see for what seemed like miles was grave after grave. Sadness was present on the faces of everyone in the crowd, some people had tears streaming down their face. Not even the beauty of the world around them could take them out of the depression they all lived in.