They say He was a
serious child,
And quiet in His
ways,
They say the
gentlest lady smiled
To hear the
neighbors’ praise.
The coffers of her
heart would close
Upon their
smallest word.
Yet did they say, How tall He grows!
They thought she
had not heard.
They say upon His
birthday eve
She’d rock Him to
His rest
As if she could
not Have him leave
The shelter of her
breast.
The poor must go
in bitter thrift,
The poor must give
in pain,
But ever did she
set a gift
To greet His day
again.
They say she’d
kiss the boy awake,
And hail Him gay
and clear,
But oh, her heart
was like to break
To count another
year.
--Dorothy Parker, The Gentlest Lady
Image source: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The Madonna of the Roses (1903),
_-_The_Madonna_of_the_Roses_(1903).jpg){kind=link}
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