The Birthplace

 Here further up the mountain slope
Than there was every any hope,
My father built, enclosed a spring,
Strung chains of wall round everything,
Subdued the growth of earth to grass,
And brought our various lives to pass.

A dozen girls and boys we were.

The mountain seemed to like the stir,
And made of us a little while--
With always something in her smile.

Today she wouldn't know our name.

(No girl's, of course, has stayed the same.
)
The mountain pushed us off her knees.

And now her lap is full of trees.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...