Graceful Acacia

Graceful Acacia! slender, brittle,
I think I know the like of thee;
But thou art tall and she is little . . .
What God shall call her his own tree?
Some God must be the last to change her;
From him alone she will not flee;
O may he fix to earth the ranger,
And may he lend her shade to me!
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.