The Miracle and Other Poems by Virna Sheard
page 54 of 81 (66%)
page 54 of 81 (66%)
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THE SHEPHERD WIND When hills and plains are powdered white, And bitter cold the north wind blows, Upon my window in the night A fairy-garden grows. Here poppies that no hand hath sown Bloom white as foam upon the sea, And elfin bells to earth unknown Hold frost-bound melody. And here are blossoms like to stars Tangled in nets of silver lace-- My very breath their beauty mars, Or stirs them from their place. Perchance the echoes of old songs Found here a resting place at last With drifting perfume that belongs To roses of the past. Or all the moonbeams that were lost On summer nights the world forgets May here be prisoned by the frost With souls of violets. The wind doth shepherd many things-- |
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