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Shut in a shack on the prairie,
Travel is not for me; So I pretend the waves of wheat Are the sea. I read of the French Revolution To the windmill's creaking fret; Its skeleton shadow a guillotine's Silhouette. I never shall visit Venice; But a rain pool gives back the moon And scattering lights; I think it is like A lagoon. I should like to see the Madonnas Raphael's and the rest; But it is sweet just to sit with my babe At my breast. |
Seesaw
May Williams Ward
page 50
(Atlanta: The Bozart Press. 1929)
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