Author Georgia Douglas Johnson Your voice keeps ringing down the day In accents soft and mild, With which you have beguiled And wooed me as a child. Your presence bounds my every way And thrills me in its fold With phantom hands that hold Like cherished chains of gold. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments