THE SAD YEARS
THE HUMAN TOUCH (Continued)
All the pretty ladies prayed, with uplifted glance,
Thanked God that each lovely life had not met its doom,
She prayed in her prison place for the “lucky chance”
That had saved her sweated life from the restful tomb.
Thanked God she made roses still for pretty ladies' wear,
Threepence for a dozen such, working to the night.
Dragged into a hurried knot all her dusty hair—
Eyes foolish with fatigue straining to the light.
[29]
