Treasure Island

Charles Harper Webb

(Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)

March


THE EARTH seems a desolate mother,—
Betrayed like the princess of old,
The ermine stripped from her shoulders,
And her bosom all naked and cold.

But a joy looks out from her sadness,
For she feels with a glad unrest
The throb of the unborn summer
Under her bare, brown breast

Submitted: Wednesday, March 14, 2012

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