Henry McCone Poems

Crad'ling in your foster arms
The grave wherein I lie--
Hold high this tiny cross that is the all of me
That some within this hating world may see.
...

Evening--
purple shadows on the hills--
scattered lamps, like land-locked stars
That sparkle on the hillsides and down along the shore--
...

These--that were a moment past all blue and bright, are grey again
These fickle skies.
It seemed that suddenly the sun was filled up with pain
And closing up its eyes
...