Long years to raise my little brood I strove, Gave up all thought of self -- or sex -- or love. Since God took from me, in their tender youth, The father of my bairns, in very truth I lived for them alone. What toil! What strife! What ceaseless care -- to make carefree their life. Now they are grown and think me through with life -- and old -- Needing but food -- clothes -- shelter from the cold. They cannot know that mutely, fierce and wild, My heart cries out for love. Not that of friend or child, But every woman's right -- a true kind mate -- One who would walk with me to Heaven's gate Or to Perdition's door, and would not care That gone are youth's light charms, and grey my hair -- One who would look within, as on a scroll, And read the love and beauty of my soul, And understand that 'spite of years of strife, I am not old -- nor am I through with Life. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LUNCH AT A CLUB by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUMMER by HAYDEN CARRUTH FOR OUR BETTER GRACES by JAMES GALVIN TO HENRY LINCOLN JOHNSON - LAWYER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IN A SWEDISH GRAVEYARD by EMMA LAZARUS GARDEN WIRELESS by CARL SANDBURG |