J. Tillman Follow

Three sisters
Came to me last night,
Last night.

They said, "There's a boat
On the shore,
A gas lantern and one oar
For your trip.

Go home,
And tell your mother don't
Don't weep for me.

Leave everything you have there
For beasts of the field and birds of the air
To trample and steal."

"Three sisters,
Tell me what you're called,
You're named by men."

"Want of love,"
Said the first,
"The most noble aim on Earth,
And I am known by all."

"Want of wealth,"
Said the next,
"So your work's not meaningless,
And I am loved by most."

"Want of none,"
Said the third,
As her sisters' faces turned,
And they seemed to forget me.

"With one of us,
You must sail.
It's always been and always will,
Though no one's ever told you."

"My mother lived alone,
So I have no need of love,
And I have no wish to conquer man.
I see no need for needy friends."
The sisters laughed.

"There's truly nothing that you need.
You won't miss us when we leave,"
And I had cast them out.

To the boat I was led.
As we approached, I turned and said,
"I need some oil."

I said, "To light the lamp,
I need some oil.
To steer the boat I need two oars."

The sisters said, "Money can buy you oil
And a friend can man an oar."