Stephen Crane

(November 1, 1871 – June 5, 1900 / New Jersey)

’scaped - Poem by Stephen Crane

Once, I knew a fine song,
- It is true, believe me -
It was all of birds,
And I held them in a basket;
When I opened the wicket,
Heavens! They all flew away.
I cried, 'Come back, little thoughts!'
But they only laughed.
They flew on
Until they were as sand
Thrown between me and the sky.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, April 2, 2010



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