On A Child Who Died In Autumn Poem by Jan Struther
On A Child Who Died In Autumn
His life was such a tiny thing:
The first pale crocus of the spring
Began it, and the last late rose
Fell, in the autumn, on its close.
Say, then, all else being said,
'Another flower is dead,
Who was as sweet and small and dear
As any blossom of the year.'
And say, 'He knew the sun, but shall not know
Grey skies, long rains, cold winds or bitter snow.'
Monday, March 20, 2017
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4/19/2024 1:45:04 PM # 1.0.0.1119
