The Mother

The long dark night crawled slowly on; I waited patiently, Knowing at last the sudden dawn, Sometime, would surely be.

It came,--to tell me everything Was Winter's quiet slave: I waited still, aware that Spring Was strong to come and save.

And then Spring came, and I was glad A few expectant hours; Until I learned the things I had Were only withered flowers

Because there came not with the Spring As in the ancient days-- The sound of his feet pattering Along Spring's open ways;

Because his sweetly serious eyes Looked into mine no more; Because no more in childish-wise He brought his gathered store

Of dandelions to my bed, And violets and grass,-- Deeming I would be comforted That Spring had come to pass.

And now these unused toys and I Have little dread or care For any season that drifts by The silences we share;

And sometimes, when we think to pray, Across the vacant years We see God watching him at play And pitying our tears.