Jean Blewett

Margaret

 Next Poem          

Her eyes--upon a summer's day
God's skies are not more blue than they.

Her hair--you've seen a sunbeam bold
Made up of just such threads of gold.

Her cheek--the leaf which nearest grows
The dewy heart of June's red rose.

Her mouth--full lipped, and subtly sweet
As brier drowned in summer heat.

Her heart--December's chill and snow;
Heaven pity me, who love her so!

Next Poem 

 Back to
Jean Blewett