Come
by Sara Teasdale
Come, when the pale moon like a petal Floats in the pearly dusk of spring, Come with arms outstretched to take me, Come with lips pursed up to cling. Come, for life is a frail moth flying, Caught in the web of the years that pass, And soon we two, so warm and eager, Will be as the gray stones in the grass.
Crowd Score: 0.0
Want to save this story?
Create a free account to build your personal library of favorite stories
Sign Up - It's Free!Already have an account? Log in