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(1 November 1896 – 20 January 1974 / London / England)

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To Joy

Is not this enough for moan
To see this babe all motherless -
A babe beloved - thrust out alone
Upon death's wilderness?
Out tears fall, fall, fall - I would weep
My blood away to make her warm,
Who never went on earth one step,
Nor heard the breath of the storm.
How shall you go, my little child,
Alone on that most wintry wild?

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


Read poems about / on: alone, child, death, joy, children

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