Deering Oaks Encounter: A Memory Of Maine | Early Poems - Poem by Anna Maria
Oh moon, dear moon, can you hear me?
Your voice is sweet this night.
It shines through the bareness of the birch,
and glitters the snow beneath my feet.
This winding path I tread alone;
It is dark but for your song.
Please tell me we shall meet again
in the wintry slumber of the earth.
You captivate my pounding heart,
and give my spirit wings.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye