ON THE BURIAL CIRCUIT.

ON THE BURIAL CIRCUIT.
304.7

They call me through the telephone:
Each of the joy of her heart makes known;
One has a lily, and one has a rose,
Blossomed in spite of the deep winter snows.
Bright in their windows these glow and glow,
Orange and primroses all in a row;
Hyacinth, tulip, and narcissus white,
Maple, and pink, and geraniuum bright.
I have no blossoms at all, save one,
Nor smilax nor ivy my curtains o’errun;
Yet I feel richest of all, for they
Ask me: “How much does your baby weigh?”
-Cora Matson Dolson.