I pushed the tangled grass away
And lifted up the stone,
And flitted down the churchyard path
With grasses overgrown.
I halted at my mother’s door
And shook the rusty catch
“The wind is rising fast,” she said,
“It rattles at the latch.”
I crossed the street and paused again
Before my husband’s house,
My baby sat upon his knee
As quiet as a mouse.
I pulled the muslin curtain by,
He rose the blinds to draw
“I feel a draught upon my back,
The night is cold and raw.”
I met a man who loved me well In days ere I was wed, He did not hear, he did not see, So silently I fled.
— But when I found my poor old dog, Though blind and deaf was he, And feeble with his many years, He turned and followed me.
– Minna Irving, “The Return”
Categories: Poetry and Prose