MY SISTER.
Often they were laughing, dancing,
Shining, twinkling, bright with mirth,
As she told some little story
Of her kittens on the hearth.
Shining, twinkling, bright with mirth,
As she told some little story
Of her kittens on the hearth.
And you did not see her
When those pattering feet were still,
When the little hands were folded,
Not by their sweet owner's will;
When the eyes were closed so gently,
And the soft and curly hair
By the hands of friends was parted
From her forehead pure and fair?
When those pattering feet were still,
When the little hands were folded,
Not by their sweet owner's will;
When the eyes were closed so gently,
And the soft and curly hair
By the hands of friends was parted
From her forehead pure and fair?
