Nancy Byrd Turner
Nancy Byrd Turner Poems
|1.||With Regard To Dogs||5/27/2015|
|2.||Black And Gold||4/28/2017|
|3.||Death Is A Door||4/28/2017|
|4.||First Thanksgiving Of All||4/28/2017|
|5.||Love Of Country||4/28/2017|
|7.||Here Is This Day||4/28/2017|
|9.||Men Go Out From The Places Where They Dwelled||4/28/2017|
Comments about Nancy Byrd Turner
He played by the river when he was young.
He raced with rabbits along the hills,
He fished for minnows, and climbed and swung,
And hooted back at the whippoorwills.
Strong and slender and tall he grew -
And then, one morning, the bugles blew.
Over the hills the summons came,
Over the river's shining rim.
He said that the bugles called his name,
He knew that his country needed him,
And he answered, 'Coming!' and marched away
For many a night and many a day.
Perhaps when the marches were hot and long
He'd think of the river flowing by
Black And Gold
Everything is black and gold,
Black and gold, to-night:
Yellow pumpkins, yellow moon
Jet-black cats with golden eyes
Shadows black as ink,
Firelight blinking in the dark
With a yellow blink