(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967 / Long Branch / New Jersey)

My Own

Then let them point my every tear,
And let them mock and moan;
Another week, another year,
And I'll be with my own

Who slumber now by night and day
In fields of level brown;
Whose hearts within their breasts were clay
Before they laid them down.

User Rating: 2,9 / 5 ( 50 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

Very touchable and romantic, too!