by Robert Louis Stevenson
Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
I quite like this one.
And that's the end of my Mom's checkmarks. Omitted from her chosen poems are those by Wordsworth, Pound, Frost, St. Vincent Millay, Houseman, Brooke....
Oh, well, what can I say? She was 12. At least she 'got' Shakespeare!
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