IN REMEMBRANCE OF SARA TEASDALE
by Michael Langston

Though the flame be forgotten
That once burned warm and bright
In the cold, midnight stillness
Of that long-lost winter night,

Though the gray, crumbled ashes
Strewn out across that snow
Were swept away forever…
To where only the wind shall know,

Though the flower be forgotten
That once adorned that spring,
Her thoughts will live forever;
Her angel’s voice still sings.