Saturday, December 1, 2007

En Passant

The hand of grey December flaunting every-where,
The tragedies of yellow leaves and brown,
Sad leafless trees so stark and grim and bare,
The soft snow drifting gently,slowly down.

You come! A burst of sunshine floods the dewy grass;
I watch the merry sunbeams playing pass,
Glad harbingers of brighter days of spring
My ears are full of sweet hopes whispering.

The clouds will come. Leaves fall, again the snow
(when you are gone) will cover all the flowers,
It will but play its part and serve to show
The brightness of our friendship’s sunny hours.

Epsom, December 19, 1915

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