A Knowledge

I do not even love you any more.

You mean less to me than the poplar bough

Outside my window, black against the sky.

I do not know why I have cared before,

I am as calm as the gold evening now.

Yet I shall not forget you till I die.

RAINY. AFTERNOON

Great pine-trees, gauzy in the mist,

A blur of fern leaves, silvered gray. The flutter

Of wide wings, heavy with the rain,

As an owl drifts over. Distant thunder.

Fragrance of forest leaves, and fresh

Scent that the wind brings from the lake.

Dreams drifting through the rain, and then,

The lightning-the keen memory of your face.

Florence S. Page

SKY

Last night

Someone took a thin blue tea-cup

And set it gently over the city

Upside down-to keep the wind out.

Clouds? Oh no!

Those were the shadows of his fingers

Holding the cup down.

Betty Phipps