The flowers on her grave scarce breathe,
So sweet a flower lies hid beneath;
As if they feared their growth might stir
The sleepy earth that covers her.
Her Grave.
written byRobert Crawford
© Robert Crawford
The flowers on her grave scarce breathe,
So sweet a flower lies hid beneath;
As if they feared their growth might stir
The sleepy earth that covers her.
© Robert Crawford