There's a place I know where the birds swing low,
      And wayward vines go roaming,
Where the lilacs nod, and a marble god
      Is pale, in scented gloaming.
And at sunset there comes a lady fair
      Whose eyes are deep with yearning.
By an old, old gate does the lady wait
      Her own true love's returning.

But the days go by, and the lilacs die,
      And trembling birds seek cover;
Yet the lady stands, with her long white hands
      Held out to greet her lover.
And it's there she'll stay till the shadowy day
      A monument they grave her.
She will always wait by the same old gate, —
      The gate her true love gave her.

Poet Bio

What People are Saying

"With a $20,000 prize, I never imagined POL being this much fun. The competitions were more about meeting and talking with the other competitors, having a great time and enjoying the poetry. I also never knew I could find so much in myself just from reciting poems."
Elliot Davidson
2015 PA POL Champion