e sun tangled in my blowing hair,
And felt the sun burning down into my very bones,
And knew suddenly, with a terrible aching certainty
That it was so.
"Love is beautiful, and love will die ..."
Said my heart, and even the dark earth
Was little comfort!
Spring Sunday ... In a Small Town
To-day they're having Church Parade;
The Boy Scouts and the Girl Guides,
The Cubs and the Brownies,
Are all out, full force.
The uncertain, fumbling band begins a staggering march
And off they go, curling in a snaky line
Round the corner from the Market Square,
Under the old town clock.
All the people in town
Seem to have hurried down to one spot
To see their "young hopefuls" swinging past.
They don't march any too well, either,
But that isn't noticed.
There they go up the steps of the old gray church
And in at the door.
There isn't any need for tears pushing up to the surface
But they do!
The peace of it!
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