The Three Sisters

Arthur Davison Ficke

Gone are the three, those sisters rare
 With wonder-lips and eyes ashine.
One was wise and one was fair,
 And one was mine.
Ye mourners, weave for the sleeping hair
 Of only two, your ivy vine.
For one was wise and one was fair,
 But one was mine.


Play Hangman

Play Poptropica

Play Same Game

Try Our Math Flashcards