To a Young Girl in a Window

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by Margaret Widdemer


The Poor Old Soul plods down the street,
       Contented, and forgetting
How Youth was wild, and Spring was wild
       And how her life is setting.


And you lean out to watch her there,
      And pity, nor remember,
That Youth is hard, and Life is hard,
      And quiet is December.

Comments

  1. English RiderDecember 2, 2013 at 4:55 PM

    Lovely to see you again, as rare as a sunny day at year's end. I still have a copy of your bowling alley poem. You are very good at intimating Life's pivotal moments.

    ReplyDelete
  2. UnknownDecember 2, 2013 at 7:19 PM

    Thanks! Lovely to be seen again. Time's gone by too fast.

    ReplyDelete
  3. The BugDecember 3, 2013 at 12:22 PM

    I smiled when I saw you on my blog feeder. I wonder if I'll miss the hurly-burly of my middle-aged December when I'm older - or if the quiet I crave will be just exactly right then. We shall see!

    ReplyDelete

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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