Your Content Goes Here
She Somebody's Mother
The woman was old and ragged and gray,
and bent with the chill of the winter's day.
The street was wet of recent snow
and the woman's feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long
alone, uncared for amid the throng
of humans beings who passed her by
nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of "Schoo l is out".
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
bailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman old and gray,
hastened the children on their way.
At last came one of the merry troop,
the gayest laddie of all the group.
He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you cross if you wish to go".
Her aged hand on his strong young arm,
he guided the trembling feet along;
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
This young he art happy and well content.
"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
for all she's aged and poor and slow".
And somebody's mother bowed low her head,
In her home that night and the prayers she said;
"God be kind to the noble boy,
who is somebody's son and pride and joy.
 
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