Untitled - Poem by Joyce George
The roads to home are filled with memories sweet
Too long I've trod the busy city streets
Almost forgotten the skylark's piercing call,
Or the perfume of the lavender
Strong and sweet.
How could the memories of the flint stone walls of
cottage be so dimmed
Or white sails of the little boats escape my mind
But I have found a calm so long denied
For I have trod again the roads to home.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye