Hilda Conkling

The Champlain Sandman

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THE Sandman comes pattering across the Bay:
his hair is silver,
his footstep soft.
The moon shines on his silver hair,
on his quick feet.
The Sandman comes searching across the Bay:
he goes to all the houses he knows
to put sand in little girls' eyes.
that is why I go to my sleepy bed,
and why the lake-gull leaves the moon alone.
There are no wings to moonlight any more,
only the Sandman's hair.

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Hilda Conkling