by John Vance Cheney
I sing home songs, tuning the strings
To lowly music of the ground;
I sing the humble, happy things
The seasons bring me, on their round.
I fellow with the day and night,
To share their fortune and their fame;
Among the names the wild flowers write
Be mine, or let me have no name.
- Share this Poem:
Last updated January 14, 2019