The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding--Riding--riding--The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
Alfred NoyesAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: September 16, 1880
- Died: June 28, 1958
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Do you remember the summer we signed you up for camp? And the night before you left, you said you've changed your mind and wanted to stay home? I told you to to get a seat on the left side of the bus, so when you pulled away, you'd be able to look back and see me there waiting for you." I press her hand against my cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. "You get that same seat in Heaven. One where you can watch me, watching you.
Jodi Picoult