A March Flaw Poem by Philip Henry Savage

A March Flaw



THE fickle wind, by ebb and flaw,
Wavers uncertain as a girl:
The fire delays and will not draw:
The smoke creeps out in lip and curl;

Will not adventure in the skies,
But level on the pasture lies,
As if it sought and could not find
A purpose equal to its mind.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success