Sara Teasdale

(August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933 / Missouri / United States)

Grandfather's Love - Poem by Sara Teasdale

They said he sent his love to me,
They wouldn't put it in my hand,
And when I asked them where it was
They said I couldn't understand.

I thought they must have hidden it,
I hunted for it all the day,
And when I told them so at night
They smiled and turned their heads away.

They say that love is something kind,
That I can never see or touch.
I wish he'd sent me something else,
I like his cough-drops twice as much.


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Read poems about / on: night, love, hunting, smile



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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