For a Native Princess
The stars are pixie dust) The cobbly brook of gray About the churchyard strays Mid flowered airs of May Lilac sprays and lily lace Bring to sacred place Ambrosia seeking bees To saffron pollen folds Whose dewey prisms close Till amber sunbeams glow The sepia colored hills Lend ringing singing rills To little brooks they fill As breezes sigh the trees In verdant valley leas Ineffable angels fair Wander querying there Their gazes crossing years Amazed she made it through The crazy world she knew Her name was Pearl Eden Now etched upon a stone She's forever turned to rust The stars are pixie dust Falling upon her home Aw, but it's no lonely shrine Below that old Yellow PineAs I look back over the years, I wonder, how on Earth did I ever make it through. I guess it must have been a miracle, and I guess it must be God. Written March 6th, 2002 © on Mar 06 2002 07:51 AM PST 20 • 0 • 13
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"The stars are pixie dust)..."