Motherless

He was so small, so very small,That since she ceased to care,'T was easy just to pass him by,Forgetting he was there;But though too slight a thing he seemedOf interest to be,—One heart had loved him with a loveAs boundless as the sea.

He was so poor, so very poor,That now, since she had died,He seemed a tiny threadbare coatWith nothing much inside;But, ah! a treasure he concealed,And asked of none relief:His shabby little bosom hidA mighty, grown-up grief.