She goes all so softly
Like a shadow on the hill,
A faint wind at twilight
That stirs, and is still.
She weaves her thoughts whitely,
Like doves in the air,
Though a gray mound in Flanders
Clouds all that was fair.
Song
Edward J. O'brien
(1)
Poem topics: wind, shadow, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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