Classic poem of the day
WE WERE in bed by nine, but she did not hear the clock,
She lay in her quiet first sleep, soft-breathing, head by her arm,
And the rising, radiant moon spilled silver out of its crock
On her hair and forehead and eyes as we rested, gentle and warm.
All night long it remained, that calm, compassionate sheet,
All the long night it wrapped us in whiteness like ermine-fur,
I did not sleep all the night, but lay, with wings on my feet,
Still, the cool ......
Member poem of the day
blackbird holding the winter sun in its beak