[pg 46a]
[blank]

[pg 46b]
For Those Grown Old
By Wilhelmina Stitch
I pray you be not angry, hard or cold
With those grown old
Two things there be that torture me
(How shall such pain in rhyming lines be [told)?]
The sound of children crying bitterly,
And words like spears, hurled at the
[maimed?] old.
They are so tired; no longer are they girls
with youths brave armour warding off
Life’s blows,
They are defenceless; very swiftly hurt;
One sharp word hurled, and lo? the hearts
blood flows.
They are so very tired; one never knows
When they may slip into the arms of Death
And sob like children lost and found again
And with this hurt, tear-laden breath
Till Death, the friend, how they’ve escaped
from pain.
[pg 47a]
Oh, sin indeed to make the old weary of life;
They who have had their share of misery & strife
Oh, wrap your tenderness about them like a shawl
To comfort them and keep them from the cold
And let your love build up so high a wall _
The spears of life find not the [maimed? unarmed?] old
Copied by Carrie E. Williams
July 1928
[pg 47b]
[blank]