Having just read my great-aunt Edna’s Poems,
I am a little sick of love and death
(and wrenched grammar, and rather feeble rhymes).
It’s not all bad: the four lines on page two
are called Indifference. More of that, I think:
Indifferent Poems by Edna Clarke Hall.
Entire collections: Songs to Nonchalance!
A Modern Requiem for Lack of Interest!
Detachment Be My Guide! Not death. Not love.