96
poems.
Told her I had lost a mother,
And had been alone for years;
Pointed to the low, dark grave-bed,
That was wet with falling tears;
Pointed to another, distant,
Where my sister dear was laid;
Said my heart was bowed with sorrow
When for her that bed was made.
And had been alone for years;
Pointed to the low, dark grave-bed,
That was wet with falling tears;
Pointed to another, distant,
Where my sister dear was laid;
Said my heart was bowed with sorrow
When for her that bed was made.
Sad she listened to my story,
As I smoothed her falling hair,
And then, kneeling softly near me,
Clasped her dimpled hands in prayer.
Fell from lips low words of praising;
Trembling words were faintly said.
Then rising from the place I left her—
Left her with her precious dead.
As I smoothed her falling hair,
And then, kneeling softly near me,
Clasped her dimpled hands in prayer.
Fell from lips low words of praising;
Trembling words were faintly said.
Then rising from the place I left her—
Left her with her precious dead.
