Song
1890-1941
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.
DayPoems Poem No. 1456
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/1456.html">Song by Edward J. O'Brien</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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