by Lizette Woodworth Reese (1856 - 1935)

Changeless
Language: English 
Three sycamores down the road,
High, blotched, shaken in the cold;
A field; cut in its grass,
A pool, like small, wild gold.

And this was all I saw,
As you came by with me
A day last week. Now you are dead.
What is it that I see?

Three sycamores down the road,
High, blotched, shaken in the cold;
A field; cut in its grass,
A pool, like small, wild gold.

Confirmed with Lizette Woodworth Reese, Wild Cherry, Baltimore, Md: The Norman, Remington Co, 1923.


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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2022-01-22
Line count: 12
Word count: 72