Thistle Down

By Ethel

Pretty Words

Could pretty words,
In rhyme be wrought.
And sweetness on the tongue,
Lift off in thought?

Could the cadence of love,
Go on without end.
As precious moments linger,
The way the heart intends?

Could the rain bow,
Arch the wide expanse.
And the sun break through,
Where swaying elfins dance?

Could rippling waters,
Move around the swan.
And perfume come rising,
In the misty veil of dawn?

Could angels pause,
In heaven's joyous flight.
And sing their hall-e-lu-yaus,
In the starry realms of night?

Then pretty words,
Could every heart adorn.
And from the loftiness of mind,
A poem could then be born.


E.P. 1908 - 1989

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