Unfortunate

UNFORTUNATE

Heart, you are restless as a paper scrapThat's tossed down dusty pavements by the wind;Saying, "She is most wise, patient and kind.Between the small hands folded in her lapSurely a shamed head may bow down at length,And find forgiveness where the shadows stirAbout her lips, and wisdom in her strength,Peace in her peace. Come to her, come to her!" . . .

She will not care. She'll smile to see me come.So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me.She'll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me,And open wide upon that holy airThe gates of peace, and take my tiredness home,Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care.