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Poem by Ina Donna Coolbrith
IT befell me on a day Ч Long ago; ah, long ago! When my life was in its May, In the May - month of the year. All the orchards were like snow With pink - flushes there and here; And a bird sang, building near, And a bird sang far away, Where the early twilight lay. Long ago! ah, long ago! Youth's sweet May passed quite away May that never more is May! Yet I hear the nightingale Singing far adown the vale Where the early twilight lies, Singing sad, and sweet, and strong And I wonder if the song May be heard in Paradise!
Ina Donna Coolbrith
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