“Dear little Flyaway, may I

inquire
Whither so fast you are going?
See not before you the creek and the
> mire?
What if the wind should stop blowing?

You cannot curb in the wind-steeds; and
though

Firm on their necks you’re now lying,

If they should pause once, away you would
20

Into the mud, and lie dying.”

“Wee, winsome Troubleheart, can you not

see,
Home, on these wind-steeds I’m going,

There to sleep sweetly till
Spring calls to me?
Then, a fair flower I shall
be growing.
Though but a weak little
waif I appear,
Purposes wise I’m fulfill-
ing ;
Nothing that God makes is helpless, my dear:
Speed, winds! go if you are willing.”

JENNIE JOY.

 

~