I who was with her all the time, a child, Remember now just how she spent the days. The names of flowers in the garden ways She said were little live things, winged and wild, Which hovered just above -- for she loved words. Inside, the house was quiet when she sewed; Around her in the room the silence flowed. Her hands were warm and quick, like quiet birds. The flickering candles in her looking-glass Widened her eyes to pools of wonder deep. Once in my father's arms I saw her weep. And sometimes she came running, on the grass. Now I hear fragments of a song she sung, But then I never knew that she was young. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LAMBERT HUTCHINS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC SYNOPSIS OF A FAILED POEM by JAMES GALVIN WHERE? by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SAINT PATRICK by EDWIN MARKHAM |