Poetry of Kansas


I cannot look at burned-out ashes in a grate,
Or see the first faint rays of rosy dawn,
Without a sickening sense of tortured memory
Of that last night,
When silent, tense, we sat
Watching the embers fade to grey
And shadows of the night break into day;
With hands so clasped that they were numb,
Fearing to speak--lest words would turn
Too suddenly--upon farewell .   .   .

Kansas Poets
Edited by May William Ward
(New York: Henry Harrison. 1935)
Page 172

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April 22, 2005 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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