588
I cried at Pitynot at Pain
I heard a Woman say
"Poor Child"and something in her voice
Convicted meof me
So long I fainted, to myself
It seemed the common way,
And Health, and Laughter, Curious things
To look at, like a Toy
To sometimes hear "Rich people" buy
And see the Parcel rolled
And carried, I supposedto Heaven,
For children, made of Gold
But not to touch, or wish for,
Or think of, with a sigh
And so and sohad been to me,
Had God willed differently.
I wish I knew that Woman's name
So when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears
For fear I hear her say
She's "sorry I am dead"again
Just when the Grave and I
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,
Our only Lullaby