by John Vance Cheney
Or in the East or in the West,
Where shall I build my bird a nest?
Northward or southward, whither roam
To build my little love a home?
Up yonder, in the clean, sweet air,
I think that I could keep her, there,
Too much an angel for the ground,
For heaven somewhat too warm and round.
Last updated January 14, 2019