Twang they. And I incline this ear to tin. Poem by Fanny Howe

Twang they. And I incline this ear to tin.



If my fingers could twang
the guitar as before they
would not be what they are and
neither would I. I
would be back in young-time. Incline
towards me, Gwendolyn, this
Monday, and lend me your ear
while I loll on my pillows to
turn your songs from strings into tin.

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Fanny Howe

Fanny Howe

Buffalo, New York
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