Mary Campbell Poems

Divine the wind that riffles in my ear.
Divine the breeze that lifts my hair
and brushes with a kiss the face
I raise to thee. Divine the sun 
...

Do not fear the wild wind; what you hear
is the dance of angels as they celebrate in song
your spirit's native purity. On a common surge of joy,
they whirl from mountaintop to moon, their wings
...

In every incarnation, mobs prevail upon occasion.
We who might be torn to pieces can agree:
We're mincing words this afternoon, not out of
cowardice, although we've little inclination to be
...