They sat silent for a moment
In the sun.
Then an older man said briefly,
“We were all afraid . . . . .
. . . But what of hate?
Did no one come because of hate?”
. . . . . .
“Yes—I”—
They looked at this man
Curiously,
But he added nothing,
And no one questioned.
. . . . . . .
A fresh-faced boy spoke modestly;
“Our family are all Army people—
So, of course—
And it’s all over now.
We got through.
But it was a near thing—
What?”
To-Day
TO-DAY is a room
With windows upon one side
And upon the other
A door—
Through the windows we may look
But cannot pass;
Through the door we must pass
But cannot look,
And there are no windows
Upon that side.
Memory
A YEAR is a thief
Who comes in the guise of a friend
Saying, “Let us travel together,
We have much to give each other.
See, I hold back nothing—
For what is giving
Between friends?”
Yet when the year departs
He takes his gifts with him—
“Oh, Robber!” we cry,
Aghast and weeping,
“Nay,” he replies, “I did but lend.
Still, for your weeping, I will leave you something.