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Rank fennel and broom
Grown wanly beside
The cottage and room
We once occupied,
But sold for the snows!
The dahoon berry weeps in blood,
I know,
Watched by the crow—
I’ve seen both grow
In those weird wastes of Dixie!
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on February 27, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.
In wintertime I have such fun
When I play quoits with father.
I beat him almost every game.
He never seems to bother.
What! Roses growing in a meadow
Where all the cattle browse?
I’d think they’d fear the very shadow
Of daddy’s big rough cows.
The baker’s boy delivers loaves
All up and down our street.
His car is white, his clothes are white,
White to his very feet.
I wonder if he stays that way.