The Spike or Victoria College Review October 1930
Pine
Pine
Her face was close to the little grate fire
That hissed and fluttered ceaselessly;
The gum on the pine cones gleamed like sweat
And smelt of rain, and apples, and sea.
And whenever I smell the sap of pines
That night comes madly back to me—
I see again the fire in her hair,
And her face, as young as it used to be.
—J. F.