A poem by Sophie M. Almon-Hensley

Red gleams the mountain ridge,
Slow the stream creeps
Under the old bent bridge,
And labor sleeps.

There are no restless birds,
No leaves that stir,
Dusk her gray mantle girds,
Night's harbinger.

The storm-soul's change and start
Pause, lull, and cease;
In my unquiet heart
Is born a peace.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Song.' by Sophie M. Almon-Hensley

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy