The Beach Comber.
The waves run on forever,
Forgetful of the broken spars they
leave upon the shore.
The ocean weaves a purple veil,
And decks herself in silver,
The moon rides on and leaves her
standing tip-toe in the door.
Life weaves itself a mystic haze,
And runs toward Eldorado,
Unmindful of the broken wrecks,
that dream and run no more.
__Elizabeth N. Barr.
The High Winds of Home
Elizabeth N. Barr
(Olathe: privately published. 1922)