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(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967 / Long Branch / New Jersey)

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My Own

Then let them point my every tear,
And let them mock and moan;
Another week, another year,
And I'll be with my own

Who slumber now by night and day
In fields of level brown;
Whose hearts within their breasts were clay
Before they laid them down.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003


Read poems about / on: night

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  • Lindemberg Pereira (11/19/2009 6:11:00 AM)

    Very touchable and romantic, too!

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