by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
LXXXIII.
Dip down upon the northern shore,
O sweet new-year delaying long;
Thou doest expectant nature wrong;
Delaying long, delay no more.
What stays thee from the clouded noons,
Thy sweetness from its proper place?
Can trouble live with April days,
Or sadness in the summer moons?
Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire,
The little speedwell’s darling blue,
Deep tulips dash’d with fiery dew,
Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire.
O thou, new-year, delaying long,
Delayest the sorrow in my blood,
That longs to burst a frozen bud
And flood a fresher throat with song.
Today: praying for Margaret.
Reit This Way 
Beautiful. I’m praying for her too.
Oh my goodness. I saw the title of your post and thought, “That is one of my favorite poems!” I was curious because it’s not “Poetry Friday.” And then I got to the bottom and saw your sweet dedication. I have a lump in my throat and I thank you, Michelle, for your friendship and your prayers.With love in Christ,Margaret