Swift as a pigeon's wings The memory swings, Back into a high vaulted past Where silent stands A child with a dead pigeon In her hands. Upon her face A white stark flash of pain. Because the beating of a heavy rain, Had robbed her of a treasured friend Whose little coral feet had clung To her finger ladder, rung by rung. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CENTER OF GRAVITY by DAVID IGNATOW FIFTH AVENUE-SPRING AFTERNOON by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: AUX ITALIENS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON REPRESSION OF WAR EXPERIENCE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON |