A Memory Poem by Ina D. Coolbrith
A Memory
Through rifts of cloud the moon’s soft silver slips;
A little rain has fallen with the night,
Which from the emerald under-sky still drips
Where the magnolias open, broad and white.
So near my window I might reach my hand
And touch these milky stars, that to and fro
Wave, odorous. . . .Yet ’t was in another land-
How long ago, my love, how long ago!
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8/26/2026 5:54:42 AM # rel_20260825T124344Z_022792b
