As it lashes the naked trees
Trees that scrape on the window panes
As ponds, lakes, rivers freege.
The wind is full of my false love's voice
As he sneers and scoffs at me___
Me who gave him all for a song___
And never can be free.
Ah, happy we were for a few short days
Before I knew these tears,
But, oh, he'll never come hack to me,
And oh, the sluggish years!
Years when the wind will shriek and cry,
Years of vicissitude,
Oh, what a pity that years are black
Because of love's short mood.
Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)