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Florence B Price Travel’s End

Travels End  by Mary Folwell Holsington

O bed in my mother’s house
with sheets as white as May
With blankets wove of carded wool
and scented with new-mown hay

With the poke of the feathered down
from her snow-white plumy geese
Oh, bed of mine in my mother’s house
With sleep that was dreamy peace

Oh, far have I walked forlorn
Oh, bed that my mother made
I would that your sheet might be my shroud
And I in earth be laid.


Learn about Florence B Price here.

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