I shall not weep for beauty that must pass:
First flush of spring upon an April hill,
Soft footsteps of the west wind over grass,
The poignant rapture of a bluebird's trill,
The tender radiance of sunset glow,
Swift sudden dipping of a swallow's wing,
The miracle of newly fallen snow,
Or any lovely, fragile, fleeting thing.
I would not check the falling of a leaf,
Nor stay the fading of a single flower,
But savor loveliness, however brief,
Content that I possessed it for an hour,
And face the barren season patiently,
Remembering, winter long, a scarlet tree.
Mary Pavey was born in 1905. She taught elementary school, married a farmer, raised twelve children, and wrote poetry. Mary's unpublished work has been read and loved by her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren for over 60 years. We dearly love Mary’s vibrant and generous heart, and her spirit is fully alive in her poems. We hope that by sharing her poetry with the world, her kindness and warmth will touch those who need it.
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