Freedom

When we were young we heard love must be free.
Agreeing with this valiant platitude
We went our ways. A mountain with no tree
Arose between us barren, silent, rude.
You put your books and pictures on new walls;
I built a garden on a sunny slope.
I knew naught of your flights or of your falls;
You cared not for my blossoms or my hope.
Now you are dead upon another hill;
The snow seems colder drifting on your mound;
When laurels bloom again my eyes will fill
For other petals that must strew your ground.
Why are these thoughts of you steel chains for me?
We proved so long ago love must be free.

NORA DEL SMITH.