Jack’s poem
Who can say what Jack will bring
When his young live surpasses spring
I wish him well for all its worth
A well of love, a well of mirth
To draw upon when Spring grows dim
And summer comes to welcome him
For love alone is fast a brittle
But love plus mirth makes sorrow little.
I wrote this poem all in a swoop on a full moon night coming from a French …
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Acorn Archive to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.