Where the willow leaves hang down,
Nonny, nonny, I will go
There to weave my lord a crown.
Willow, willow, by the brook,
Trailing fingers green and long,
I will read my lord a book,
I will sing my love a song.
Though he turn his face away,
Nonny, nonny, I will sing,
Ditties of a heart gone gray
And a hand that bears no ring.
Water, water cold and deep,
Hold me fast that I may sleep.
Death with you is hardly more
Than the little deaths before.
Excerpted from Killing Mr Griffin by Lois Duncan
1 comment:
Hey I was looking for this poem. I remembered thee second and third stanza from like six years ago. Thanks, and keep writing :) and I agree about the culprits being facebook haha. -wildflower
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