Nora May French


The Outer Gate - Poem by Nora May French

Life said: "My house is thine with all its store:
   Behold I open shining ways to thee --
   Of every inner portal make thee free:
O child, I may not bar the outer door.
Go from me if thou wilt, to come no more;
   But all thy pain is mine, thy flesh of me;
   And must I hear thee, faint and woefully,
Call on me from the darkness and implore?"

Nay, mother, for I follow at thy will.
   But oftentimes thy voice is sharp to hear,
   Thy trailing fragrance heavy on the breath;
Always the outer hall is very still,
   And on my face a pleasant wind and clear
   Blows straitly from the narrow gate of Death.


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Read poems about / on: house, child, mother, pain, wind, death, life, children



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003



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