Poetósfera › La Biblioteca › Edith M. Thomas
Edith M. Thomas · Vanguardias / s. XX
inglés
She was so little—little in her grave,
The wide earth all around so hard and cold—
She was so little! therefore did I crave
My arms might still her tender form enfold.
She was so little, and her cry so weak
When she among the heavenly children came—
She was so little—I alone might speak
For her who knew no word nor her own name.
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