Buried FaultsIn a garden where there's not Any prejudicial seeds Of the mean, malicious weeds, I have buried all the faults In their deep, and narrow vaults Of the friends I've learned to love; And, I've tramped the sod above, So that never more they'll show, So they never more can grow! Yes, this quiet little spot Holds all things that I would blot. __Ed Blair |
Random Rhymes
Ed Blair
(Spring Hill, Kansas: New Era Publishing Co. 1939)
Page 101
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