Twilight She sits in her yard at twilight, Shadows around her falling; With radiant smiles her face beamed bright, The nightingales were calling. In her arms she held in sweet caress A child of tender years; The dearest thing one could possess, Her hope, her joys, her fears. Her only aim was to make This boy a great and mighty man, For his poor dead father's sake, Who bravely died on foreign land. These his last words softly spoken, "Do bring little Jack up right," Reached the ears of one heart-broken, And burned into her soul that night. So in the evening we find her Teaching him to do the right, That honest policy is the best In the race in life's hard fight. Agnes L. Brochman© (written by my wife's aunt) |
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