Poem May 28, 1904 ISSUE

[Written for the Sentinel.]

The Thrush's Song

MARGARET B. AYRES.

A wood-thrush sang to a child one day,Sang from his hedge in the garden-way,Atilt where blossoming branches sway.

Red grew the poppies 'neath the sun,Kissed by the butterflies one by one,That flutter on till the day is done.

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