The Miracle and Other Poems by Virna Sheard
page 37 of 81 (45%)
page 37 of 81 (45%)
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The vines hold it close in their clinging arms;
The shadows creep there to stay; And the wind goes calling through empty rooms For those who have gone away. But the roses against the window-pane Are the roses I used to know; And the rain on the roof still sings the song It sang in the long ago, When I lay me down to sleep in a bed Little and white and low. It is long since I bid it all good-bye, With young light-hearted disdain; I remember who stood at the door that day; Her tears fell fast as the rain; And I whistled a tune and waved my hand, But never went back again. Toll I have paid at the gates of the world, The sand I know and the sea; I have taken the wide and open road, With steps unhindered and free; Yet, like a bell ringing down in my heart, My home is calling to me. IN SOLITUDE |
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