By: Ardis E. Parshall - March 30, 2017 In Absentia By Ethel Hope Hodson The little house we loved and leftStands silently since we are goneAnd yet not utterly bereft —The sun still slants across the lawnIn loveliness at close of day;The wind still whispers through the treesBeneath which shifting shadows play;The bees drone drowsy melodiesAbove the countless flowers that castTheir fragile fragrance everywhere;An two whose tenancy is pas...
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