Nothing seems changed; here's the oaken chair,
That every night I knelt beside,
As I whispered to God the simple prayer
I learned from my mother when I was her pride.
The old familiar things of then,
Unchanged, are beautiful still to the now;
But I am transformed in heart, and when
Will guilt ever cease to shadow my brow?
Untitled 3
Owen Suffolk
(1)
Poem topics: beautiful, god, heart, mother, night, pride, shadow, simple, chair, prayer, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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