Song

She goes all so softly
   Like a shadow on the hill,
A faint wind at twilight
   That stirs, and is still.

She weaves her thoughts whitely,
   Like doves in the air,
Though a gray mound in Flanders
   Clouds all that was fair.

by Edward J. O'Brien

Other poems of EDWARD J. O'BRIEN (1)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.