Poems by Susie Frances Harrison
In March
... . . . . . Had I not met her, great had been my loss, ...
Benedict Brosse
... He ignores, while he smokes and plays on his fife ...
The Voyageur
... That too long in the sun-flushed fields has flared, ...
Danger
... A jack-knife, deadly as Malay crease ...
To The God Opportunity
... With vast suggestion! Strange, thou couldst not brace ...
March
... Swift silhouettes limned 'gainst the blue, they glass'd ...
From 'Down the River'
... He sleeps, with his hand on the burning haft, ...
Catharine Plouffe
... She would like you to know she's not lost her wits ...
St. Jean B'ptiste
... It is all for the Church, for a grand good cause, ...
Petite Ste. Rosalie
... When Lent is past and the weather is fine, ...
Les Chantiers
... So fear, child, to cross him, or play the prude, ...
