Reading Time: < 1 minute



Her breast is fit for pearls,
But I was not a “Diver”—
Her brow is fit for thrones
But I have not a crest.
Her heart is fit for home—
I—a Sparrow—build there
Sweet of twigs and twine
My perennial nest.

Previous Poem
Heaven Is So Far Of The Mind
Next Poem
Her Smile Was Shaped Like Other Smiles