CRYSTAL
STORMS
A crystal morn
In the Midwest,
Flitting bluebirds
Summer’s best,
But didn’t come
With yellow sun
Or dew-drops
On her breast.
She lied awake
‘Fore dawn to break,
Till storm-soaked
Rivers could rest,
While other morns,
Their sheep all shorn,
Dry-bed creeks
Never crest.
STORMS
A crystal morn
In the Midwest,
Flitting bluebirds
Summer’s best,
But didn’t come
With yellow sun
Or dew-drops
On her breast.
She lied awake
‘Fore dawn to break,
Till storm-soaked
Rivers could rest,
While other morns,
Their sheep all shorn,
Dry-bed creeks
Never crest.
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