Fortune Told

The fortune teller's got my hand
and pulled my arm into her stand.
Her finger's tickling my palm. 
Her face grows white, her eyes, not calm, 
are wide and staring at my head. 
"Oh woe!" she cries, "for you are dead.
You died a year ago today, 
and in your grave you would not stay.
Why have you come back to the fair?
Why answer not? Why only stare?"

Then slowly light dawned in her eyes, 
and suddenly she recognized—
She knew then why that I had come; 
she knew me then and was struck dumb.