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Sunday, June 8, 2014

Poem by Grace Noll Crowell, 1935

Poem by Grace Noll Crowell in the June, 1935, issue of Carolina Co-operator

She had so little in her house
Of that which money buys,
Plain things they are, but Oh, she is
Strangely beauty-wise;
She hides the old worn wood of chairs
With bright paint, smoothly spread;
Her table is an orange flame;
And dull blue is her bed.
Her small yard yields for love of her,
Her little orchard bends
Beneath its gold and scarlet fruit;
The birds are all her friends.
She brings armloads of beauty in
To brighten every room;
A bowl of fruit, light-spangled here,
And there a mass of bloom.
And her small house is lovelier
With God’s paint, and her own,
Than almost any other house
That I have ever known.

                                --Grace Noll Crowell

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