daughter poem

up from the meadows rich with corn
all quiet along the potomac
our pleasant moments fly
when night drifts along the streets of the city
night is dark, and the winter winds
gone are the three, those sisters rare
did you ever hear of
i had a dream and i awoke with it
before the solemn bronze saint
there is no escape by the river
all those treasures that lie
on and on
we lay