'I asked the cuckoo'

by

I asked the cuckoo:
How many years will I live? …
The tips of the pine-trees quivered,
A yellow ray shone on the grass.
Yet no sound in the cool grove…
Now I am going home,
And a refreshing breeze
Kisses my burning brow.

Crowd Score: 6.5
📖

Want to save this story?

Create a free account to build your personal library of favorite stories