From the Rock Island Argus, April 21, 1915. By Ted Robinson.
The lips of her were scarlet, and she carried golden hair;
And wondering eyes like April skies, and simple, violet air.
Yes, she had cheeks like peaches and the innocent white brow
Of children who can know no sorrow now—no sorrow—now!
She had pathetic, faded eyes, and she wore silver hair—
Her forehead showed the crowsfoot cross of many a carking care;
She had the slender, blue-veined hands of one whose work was done—
The dim, sweet smile of happiness, lost long ago—and won!
And close they sat together in the softened twilight hour—
The tender opening blossom and the scentless, drooping flower;
Which of them shall we pity with a philosophic mind—
The bitter life that’s coming, or the sweet life left behind?
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