Hers never was the quiet way Of ordered house and polished spoon; Our gypsy mother danced for us Beneath the laughing autumn moon. She led us to deep forest pools; She pointed out the birds in flight; We sang together in the snow And sought the stars throughout the night. Though dust might gather, tasks be left, She walked our every childish way. Silent and sure, though now unseen, She treads our older paths today. For when the wind is wild with song Or autumn waltzes on the hill, From every lovely, lilting thing She calls her children still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALIENS (TO YOU - EVERYWHERE! DEDICATED) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MIDDLETON PLACE by AMY LOWELL MONODY ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM MARION REEDY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DEATH SNIPS PROUD MEN by CARL SANDBURG ILLINOIS FARMER by CARL SANDBURG |