Poems By a Little Girl by Hilda Conkling
page 41 of 79 (51%)
page 41 of 79 (51%)
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There are many clouds
But not like the one I see, For mine floats like a swan in featheriness Over the River of the Broken Pine. There are many clouds But not like the one that goes sailing Like a ship full of gold that shines, Like a ship leaning above blue water. There are many clouds But not like the one I wait for, For mine will have a strangeness Whiter than anything your eyes remember. MOON THOUGHT The moon is thinking of the river Winding through the mountains far away, Because she has a river in her heart Full of the same silver. THE OLD BRIDGE The old bridge has a wrinkled face. He bends his back For us to go over. He moans and weeps But we do not hear. Sorrow stands in his face |
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