Winter 1955 • Vol. XVII No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1955 |

A Mothers’ Idyll

A gentleman from her past appears.   He is not young. Around his presence form the years   That she has strung Like picked up beads and hid like tears.   Now she is stung By new remorse. She knows the fears   The heart has wrung From sleep. He mentions Yellow Springs,   The bride in white. Around her clasped bouquet still clings   Its scent and light, Although it rained and rained, and rings   Circled her bright Prospective eyes. And now she flings   The flowers from sight. He mocked her low-cut dress but danced   The night away. Her heart was like a fool's. She glanced   Always astray From partners who had gladly chanced   The wedding day As theirs. The brilliant rose enhanced   Her head like May. Her hair is whitened now, her breast   Heavy with bearing. She talks of lighter days, how west   She came, how wearing The years when all she asks is rest.   He rises. Fearing That she will break before the test,  

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Roman Spring

By Douglas Nichols

A gentleman from her past appears.   He is not young. Around his presence form the years   That she has strung Like picked up beads and hid like tears.   Now she […]

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