A Passing Thought Poem by Albert Laighton
A Passing Thought
THE violets are dead,
And faded is the rose;
The autumn leaves are shed;
High drift the winter snows,
And no flower blows.
Oh, why complain, sad soul?
Life may be verdure-crowned,
Howe'er the seasons roll;
And Love's sweet flower be found
The whole year round.
Friday, October 8, 2010
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5/12/2024 8:53:15 PM # 1.0.0.1119
