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Driven Back and Driven Home
by Gwen Fry

I know where the ferns have gone
The June-bugs and the moon,
But not the rusted springs of past,
Swathed in youthful tunes;
Wind has kicked them all away
As so, as each will go,
Driven back and driven home.

Sweet those ringlets gliding by,
Flashing as if a dream
Of unkempt fields and perfumed waves,
But fraying at its seam;
For where has gone the Seamstress?
Why, She has left to roam,
Driven back and driven home.

Mother Winter came to stay,
To take up empty chair;
To rock and shutter up my house,
Steeping cold affairs;
I woke up one bleak morning
To find myself alone,
Driven back and driven home.

“Driven back and driven home.”
The phrase streaked ‘cross the sky;
“Oh, driven back and driven home”
A faint forgotten cry:
Its fingers fall in soft defeat
And spite, its button, gone,
Driven back and far along.

1st Place, Edith Garlow Memorial Poetry Contest*

*High school students from Chester and Delaware counties and undergraduates from colleges and universities located in Chester and Delaware counties were eligible to sumit their poetry.