Donald Robertson


Memory

We left the house at last, the rooms still bathed in gloom
I looked into a garden, the roses were in bloom,
I saw the children playing, the sunlight on their hair,
I thought I was in paradise, or somewhere just as fair.
It was a lovely summers day, warm, soft with gentle breeze,
I heard the childrens laughter, like the sound of windblown trees.
A little boy was on a swing, which shuttled up and down,
Attended by two little maids, in flowery ribboned gown.
And as I viewed that happy s

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