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A Woodland Grave

Rating: 5.0

White moons may come, white moons may go-
She sleeps where early blossoms blow;
Knows nothing of the leafy June,
That leans above her night and noon,
Crowned now with sunbeam, now with moon,
Watching her roses grow.

The downy moth at twilight comes
And flutters round their honeyed blooms:
Long, lazy clouds, like ivory,

That isle the blue lagoons of sky,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
* Sunprincess * 22 January 2016

......a poem of beauty and elegance...and beautifully penned of a lovely resting place ?

0 0 Reply
Susan Williams 27 October 2015

This seems to concern the death of the elderly woman in her poem #49 called A Yellow Rose. How beautifully and tenderly she deals with the woman's death.

32 0 Reply
Brian Jani 28 April 2014

I like this poem, its interesting

1 0 Reply

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