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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369155" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Garden-Spot</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369155" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">God's acre was her garden-spot, she said;<br> She sat there often, of the Summer days,<br>Little and slim and sweet, among the dead,<br> Her hair a fable in the leveled rays.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369155" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">She turned the fading wreath, the rusted cross,<br> And knelt to coax about the wiry stem.<br>I see her gentle fingers on the moss<br> Now it is anguish to remember them.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=369155" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And once I saw her weeping, when she rose<br> And walked a way and turned to look around-<br>The quick and envious tears of one that knows<br> She shall not lie in consecrated ground.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Dorothy+Parker">Dorothy Parker</a></strong></div>

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