Is it Well with the Child?

SAFE where I cannot die yet,
   Safe where I hope to lie too,
Safe from the fume and the fret;
   You, and you,
   Whom I never forget.
Safe from the frost and the snow,
   Safe from the storm and the sun,
Safe where the seeds wait to grow
   One by one,
   And to come back in blow.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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