Dorothy Butts

From “The Passers-by”

IT is a vanity to make

The little waves on my small lake

Speak from their “deep spring depths.”

What can they have to say,

Blown down the winking bay

The first half of the day,

Blown back all afternoon?

See—in the early moon,

Wind-driven home, they leap

And scramble on the shore—

And sleep.