Where Home Was
'TWAS yesterday; 'twas long ago:
And for this flaunting grimy street,
And for this crowding to and fro,
And thud and roar of wheels and feet,
Were elm-trees and the linnet's trill,
The little gurgles of the rill,
And breath of meadow-flowers that blow
Ere roses make the summer sweet.
'Twas long ago; 'twas yesterday:
Our peach would just be new with leaves,
The swallow pair that used to lay
Their glimmering eggs beneath our eaves
Would flutter busy with their brood,
And, haply, in our hazel-wood,
Small village urchins hide at play,
And girls sit binding blue-bell sheaves.
Was the house here, or there, or there?
No landmark tells. All changed; all lost;
As when the waves that fret and tear
The fore-shores of some level coast
Roll smoothly where the sea-pinks grew.
All changed, and all grown old anew;
And I pass over, unaware,
The memories I am seeking most.
But where these huddled house-rows spread,
And where this thickened air hangs murk
And the dim sun peers round and red
On stir and haste and cares and work,
For me were baby's daisy-chains
,For me the meetings in the lanes,
The shy good-morrows softly said
That paid my morning's lying lurk.
Oh lingering days of long ago,
Not until now you passed away.
Years wane between and we unknow;
Our youth is always yesterday
.But, like a traveller home who craves
For friends and finds forgotten graves,
I seek you where you dwelt, and, lo,
Even farewells not left to say.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Related quotes
A Summer Mood
BUT wait. Let each by each the days pass by,
One faded and one blown like summer flowers;
What need of hope, with summer in the sky?
What of regret, with all fair morrows ours?
If yesterday be gone,No reck, 'twas not alone,
To-morrow will have just so sweet long hours.
But yet to-day is sweetest till 'tis flown.
But wait. Let summer day be changed from day,
Like following surges of the ebb and flow;
And flow brings breath of saltness and blithe spray,
And ebb long music of seas plashing low.
The waves, stolen out of reach
,Have no farewell for speech;
Next tide will roll as swift, as rippling go.
And yet 'tis now that's best along the beach.
Ah wait. The while we linger our lives live,
Our summer ripens purpose through our dreams;
Flower-petals fallen leave a seed to thrive,
Spent tides heap treasures from the deep sea streams;
Now drifts by unaware,
And Afterwards is heir;
To-morrow wins the wealth of yester gleams.
Yet 'tis to-day that summer makes most fair.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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The Good Old Concertina
’Twas merry when the hut was full
Of jolly girls and fellows.
We danced and sang until we burst
The concertina’s bellows.
From distant Darling to the sea,
From the Downs to Riverina,
Has e’er a gum in all the west
Not heard the concertina?
’Twas peaceful round the campfire blaze,
The long white branches o’er us;
We’d play the tunes of bygone days,
To some good old bush chorus.
Old Erin’s harp may sweeter be,
The Scottish pipes blow keener;
But sing an old bush song for me
To the good old concertina.
’Twas cosy by the hut-fire bright
When the pint pot passed between us;
We drowned the voice of the stormy night
With the good old concertina’s.
Though trouble drifts along the years,
And the pangs of care grow keener,
My heart is gladdened when it hears
That good old concertina.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Let Us play Yesterday
728
Let Us play Yesterday—
I—the Girl at school—
You—and Eternity—the
Untold Tale—
Easing my famine
At my Lexicon—
Logarithm—had I—for Drink—
'Twas a dry Wine—
Somewhat different—must be—
Dreams tint the Sleep—
Cunning Reds of Morning
Make the Blind—leap—
Still at the Egg-life—
Chafing the Shell—
When you troubled the Ellipse—
And the Bird fell—
Manacles be dim—they say—
To the new Free—
Liberty—Commoner—
N ever could—to me—
'Twas my last gratitude
When I slept—at night—
'Twas the first Miracle
Let in—with Light—
Can the Lark resume the Shell—
Easier—for the Sky—
Wouldn't Bonds hurt more
Than Yesterday?
Wouldn't Dungeons sorer frate
On the Man—free—
Just long enough to taste—
Then—doomed new—
God of the Manacle
As of the Free—
Take not my Liberty
Away from Me—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Yesterday
Ooh yesterday
(bg)ooh...aw..e..aw..e..aw
All my trobles seem so far away
(bg)hey..ey..ey..
Now it looks as though thier here to stay
(bg)here to stay
Ooh,oh...
(bg)i believe in yesterday
(bg)i believe in yesterday
All so suddenly, Im not half the girl I used to be
(bg)ooooooooooh......................i used to be..
Theres a shadow hanging over me
(bg)o..ver me
Ooh..ooh..ooh..ooh..yeah
(bg)yesterday came suddenly, yesterday came suddenly
Why... he had to go
(bg)had to go
I dont know but he wouldnt stay around here long he wounlnt stay
(bg)know.........stay........
(bg)i... think...somethings wrong...
I think I said...wrong, now I long for yesterday
(bg)day, day, day
Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away
(bg)hide....away
(bg)i believe in yesterday
(bg)i believe in yesterday
(bg)i believe in yesterday
(bg)i believe in yesterday
(bg)i believe in yesterday
(bg)i believe in yesterday
song performed by by En Vogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do You Believe In Him?
(vocals by lance diamond)
twas the night before christmas
And all through the house
By the color tv
Here asleep on the couch
All cozy and warm
With a dream for the light
Inside its safe
On a cold christmas night
Do you believe in him?
I dont know how long its been
Do you believe in him?
All you got to do is let him in
All you got to do is let him in
twas the night before christmas
And out on the street
Through the window the snow such a holiday treat
Outside the trees and the cars in the back
Are perfectly dressed for a wine when its time
Do you believe in him?
I dont know how long its been
Do you believe in him?
All you got to do is let him in
All you got to do is let him in
twas the night before xmas
A man sleeps alone
Out in the cold cause he aint got a home
Give him a hand, give him a share
Lets give him a smile
Instead of a stare
Do you believe in him?
I dont know how long its been
Do you believe in him?
All you got to do is let him in
All you got to do is let him in
song performed by by Goo Goo Dolls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Houses
Yesterday's house,
where I used to live
was warm
with brick, and mellow wood.
Sounds bounced
softly
back and forth,
to blend with living words.
Yesterday's house
does not remember me.
Today's house
is cold and bleak
with steel,
and pitted stone.
Sounds clash,
as havoc reigns...
with reason
lost to madness.
Yesterday's house
is masked by time,
and clockwork hands
that can't turn back.
My body lives in today's house -
my eyes weep today's tears -
but my heart
is safe in yesterday's house
where the mortgage
is always paid.
poem by Robert Reldan
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That was yesterday
That was yesterday
Someone asked me
If I had fallen astray in any particular way
I replied, ’ That was yesterday, not today’
Yesterday
I took the sunshine without making any hay
Yesterday
I allowed all my silver white teeth to decay
Yesterday
I partied and played each and every other day
Yesterday
I made friends and became the traitor who betrayed
Yesterday
I worked hard without getting my rightful pay
Yesterday
I only listened to whatever others had to say
Yesterday
I was always sad and never wore a face jubilantly gay
That was yesterday
Today is today
Yesterday I fell astray
I think it was almost every other day
But that changed in the month of May
As I got down on my knees to pray
Yesterday, Yesterday is gone
I’m free
I’m free
From yesterdays race
I’m back home in my rightful place
Life is work and not just play
Those answers came without delay
Yes but! That was yesterday, not today
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Yesterday, When I Was Mad
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday)
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday)
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday) when i was mad
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday) when i was mad
Darling, you were wonderful, you really were quite good
I enjoyed it, though, of course, no one understood
A word of what was going on, they didn't have a clue
They couldn't understand your sense of humour like i do
You're much too kind
I smiled with murder on my mind
Yesterday, when i was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, i don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday)
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday) when i was mad
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today is better than Yesterday
Yesterday
Yesterday, I was running with to feet
Yesterday, I was playing with kids
Yesterday, I was kicking the ball
Yesterday, I had it all, all was mine.
Yesterday, I was growing well,
Yesterday, I had it all undercover
Yesterday was my day
Yesterday, my days were
Yesterday, I had a lover, ‘true lover’
Yesterday, promises were made
Yesterday, promises were not kept
Yesterday, I was happy.
Yesterday, I gave him everything
Yesterday, I sacrificed everything
Yesterday, I was a fool
Yesterday, I was dying
Today
Today, I am lying in bed
Today, I am watching hopeless kids
Today, I can hardly move
Today, everything is falling
Today, I am dying in bed
Today, it is all wrong
Today, is not my day
Today, my days are not
Today, I have no one
Today, promises are broken
Today, promises are not
Today, I have no hope
Today, I long for myself
Today, I cry over spilled milk
Today, I am wise
Today, I live
Whatever happened yesterday is not
Whatever was, is not
Whatever was broken can be fixed
Whatever wound are, can be healed
Just need the Perfect Healer
Jesus I know you are! ! !
poem by Sbonelo C Ngcobo
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The door to Yesterday
I walked this campus in my youth,
forty years ago today.
The air is sweet from recent rain
here on the quad lawn where we played.
It's changed, of course,
that building is new.
Jefferson Hall is next, they say.
I graduated here in May.
I need not give the year away
I 'll only say it was a time,
like now, of great uncertainty.
I remember you like yesterday,
Your eyes a deep cerulean blue.
Your long and flowing auburn hair.
Those bee stung lips so sweet and true.
On impulse, just then
I tried the door.
Surprised I was when it gave way
I entered in the Bursars room
and heard your voice just down the hall.
For sure, twas you.
I'd know that voice
if all the world should pass away
I made my way towards your voice
anticipating ecstasy.
A joyful union there awaits
to hold you once more in my arms
life beyond death to be united
with you so many years since gone.
I entered then into the room
in hopes that she I loved was there.
This was the place where we first met
a place where, sadly, none appeared.
A wistful smile, a final glance
from your poor poet of Romance.
too much a dreamer, most would say,
as I closed the door to yesterday
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Yesterday
Yesterday
All my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though theyre here to stay
Oh I believe
In yesterday
Suddenly
Im not half the girl I used to be
Theres a shadow hangin over me
Oh, yesterday came suddenly
Why he had to go
I dont know
He wouldnt say
I said something wrong
Now I long
For yesterday
Why he had to go
I dont know
He wouldnt say
I said ... I must ve saidd something wrong
Now I long
For yesterday
Yesterday
Life was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away
Oh I believe
In yesterday
I believe
In yersterday
I believe
In yesterday
song performed by by LeAnn Rimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To my small Hearth His fire came
638
To my small Hearth His fire came—
And all my House aglow
Did fan and rock, with sudden light—
'Twas Sunrise—'twas the Sky—
Impanelled from no Summer brief—
With limit of Decay—
'Twas Noon—without the News of Night—
Nay, Nature, it was Day—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Laurels
FROM these wild rocks I look to-day
O'er leagues of dancing waves, and see
The far, low coast-line stretch away
To where our river meets the sea.
The light wind blowing off the land
Is burdened with old voices; through
Shut eyes I see how lip and hand
The greeting of old days renew.
O friends whose hearts still keep their prime,
Whose bright example warms and cheers,
Ye teach us how to smile at Time,
And set to music all his years!
I thank you for sweet summer days,
For pleasant memories lingering long,
For joyful meetings, fond delays,
And ties of friendship woven strong.
As for the last time, side by side,
You tread the paths familiar grown,
I reach across the severing tide,
And blend my farewells with your own.
Make room, O river of our home!
For other feet in place of ours,
And in the summers yet to come,
Make glad another Feast of Flowers!
Hold in thy mirror, calm and deep,
The pleasant pictures thou hast seen;
Forget thy lovers not, but keep
Our memory like thy laurels green.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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How He Saw Angus, The God
I heard the swallow sing in the eaves and rose
All in a strange delight while others slept,
And down the creaking stair, alone, tip-toes,
So carefully I crept.
The house was dark with silly blinds yet drawn,
But outside the clean air was filled with light,
And underneath my feet the cold, wet lawn
With dew was twinkling bright.
The cobwebs hung from every branch and spray
Gleaming with pearly strands of laden thread,
And long and still the morning shadows lay
Across the meadows spread.
At that pure hour when yet no sound of man,
Stirs in the whiteness of the wakening earth,
Alone through innocent solitudes I ran
Singing aloud for mirth.
Till I had found the open mountain heath
Yellow with gorse, and rested there and stood
To gaze upon the misty sea beneath,
Or on the neighbouring wood,
—That little wood of hazel and tall pine
And youngling fir, where oft we have loved to see
The level beams of early morning shine
Freshly from tree to tree.
Through the denser wood there's many a pool
Of deep and night-born shadow lingers yet
Where the new-wakened flowers are damp and cool
And the long grass is wet.
In the sweet heather long I rested there
Looking upon the dappled, early sky,
When suddenly, from out the shining air
A god came flashing by.
Swift, naked, eager, pitilessly fair,
With a live crown of birds about his head,
Singing and fluttering, and his fiery hair,
Far out behind him spread,
Streamed like a rippling torch upon the breeze
Of his own glorious swiftness: in the grass
He bruised no feathery stalk, and through the trees
I saw his whiteness pass.
But when I followed him beyond the wood,
Lo! He was changed into a solemn bull
That there upon the open pasture stood
And browsed his lazy full.
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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The Ruined Cottage
None will dwell in that cottage; for, they say
Oppression reft it from an honest man,
And that a curse clings to it. Hence the vine
Trails its green weight of leaves upon the ground;
Hence weeds are in the garden; hence the hedge,
Once sweet with honey suckle, is half-dead;
And hence the gray moss on the apple tree.
One once dwelt there, who, in his youth,
Had been a soldier; and, when many days
Had passed, he sought his native village,
And sat down, to end his days in peace.
He had one child, a little laughing thing,
Whose dark eyes, he said, were like her mother's,
She had left buried in a strange land.
And time went on in comfort and content;
And that fair girl had grown far taller
Than the red-rose tree, her father planted
On her first English birth-day. He had trained it
Against an ash, till it became his pride,
It was so rich in blossom and in beauty.
It was called the tree of Isabel. 'Twas an appeal
To all the finer feelings of the heart
To mark their quiet happiness; their home,
In truth, the house of love; and, more than all,
To see them on the Sabbath, when they came,
Among the first, to church. And Isabel,
With her bright colour and her clear blue eyes,
Bowed down so meekly in the house of prayer;
And, in the hymn, her sweet voice audible.
Her father looked so fond of her, and then,
From her looked up so thankfully to heaven.
Then their small cottage was so very neat,
Their garden filled with fruits and flowers and herbs;
And in the winter there was no fireside
So cheerful as their own.
But other days
And other fortunes came - and evil power;
They bore against it cheerfully, and hoped
For better times; but ruin came at last,
And the old soldier left his dear home,
And left it for a prison. 'Twas in June,
One of June's brightest days; the bee, the bird,
The butterfly, were on their lightest wings;
The fruits had their first tinge of summer light;
The sunny sky, the very leaves seemed glad;
But the old man looked back upon his cottage,
And wept aloud. They hurried him away,
And the dear child, that would not leave his side!
They led him from the sight of the blue heaven
And the green grass, into a low dark cell,
The windows shutting out the blessed sun
With iron grating; and, for the first time,
He threw him on the bed, and could not hear
His Isabel's good night.
But the next morn
She was the earliest at the prison gate,
The last on whom it closed, and her sweet voice
And sweeter smile made him forget to pine.
She brought him every morning fresh wild flowers,
But every morning he could mark her cheek
Grow paler and more pale, and her low tones
Get fainter and more faint; and a cold dew
Was on the hand he held. One day he saw
The sun shine through the grating of his cell,
Yet Isabel came not. At every sound
His heart-beat took away his breath;
Yet still she came not near him. One sad day
He marked the dull street, through the iron bars,
That shut him from the world. At length,
He saw a coffin carried carelessly along;
And he grew desperate. He forced the bars;
And he stood on the street, free and alone.
He had no aim, no wish for liberty;
He only felt one want - to see the corpse,
That had no mourners. When they set it down,
Ere it was lowered into the new-dug grave,
A rush of passion came upon his soul;
He tore off the lid, and saw the face
Of Isabel, and knew he had no child.
He lay down by the coffin quietly -
His heart was broken!
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Slander
'Twas but a breath--
And yet the fair, good name was wilted;
And friends once fond grew cold and stilted,
And life was worse than death.
One venomed word,
That struck its coward, poisoned blow,
In craven whispers, hushed and low--
And yet the wide world heard.
'Twas but one whisper--one,
That muttered low, for very shame,
The thing the slanderer dared not name--
And yet its work was done.
A hint so slight,
And yet so mighty in its power,
A human soul in one short hour
Lies crushed beneath its blight.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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English Eclogues I - The Old Mansion-House
STRANGER.
Old friend! why you seem bent on parish duty,
Breaking the highway stones,--and 'tis a task
Somewhat too hard methinks for age like yours.
OLD MAN.
Why yes! for one with such a weight of years
Upon his back. I've lived here, man and boy,
In this same parish, near the age of man
For I am hard upon threescore and ten.
I can remember sixty years ago
The beautifying of this mansion here
When my late Lady's father, the old Squire
Came to the estate.
STRANGER.
Why then you have outlasted
All his improvements, for you see they're making
Great alterations here.
OLD MAN.
Aye-great indeed!
And if my poor old Lady could rise up--
God rest her soul! 'twould grieve her to behold
The wicked work is here.
STRANGER.
They've set about it
In right good earnest. All the front is gone,
Here's to be turf they tell me, and a road
Round to the door. There were some yew trees too
Stood in the court.
OLD MAN.
Aye Master! fine old trees!
My grandfather could just remember back
When they were planted there. It was my task
To keep them trimm'd, and 'twas a pleasure to me!
All strait and smooth, and like a great green wall!
My poor old Lady many a time would come
And tell me where to shear, for she had played
In childhood under them, and 'twas her pride
To keep them in their beauty. Plague I say
On their new-fangled whimsies! we shall have
A modern shrubbery here stuck full of firs
And your pert poplar trees;--I could as soon
Have plough'd my father's grave as cut them down!
STRANGER.
But 'twill be lighter and more chearful now,
A fine smooth turf, and with a gravel road
Round for the carriage,--now it suits my taste.
I like a shrubbery too, it looks so fresh,
And then there's some variety about it.
In spring the lilac and the gueldres rose,
And the laburnum with its golden flowers
Waving in the wind. And when the autumn comes
The bright red berries of the mountain ash,
With firs enough in winter to look green,
And show that something lives. Sure this is better
Than a great hedge of yew that makes it look
All the year round like winter, and for ever
Dropping its poisonous leaves from the under boughs
So dry and bare!
OLD MAN.
Ah! so the new Squire thinks
And pretty work he makes of it! what 'tis
To have a stranger come to an old house!
STRANGER.
It seems you know him not?
OLD MAN.
No Sir, not I.
They tell me he's expected daily now,
But in my Lady's time he never came
But once, for they were very distant kin.
If he had played about here when a child
In that fore court, and eat the yew-berries,
And sat in the porch threading the jessamine flowers,
That fell so thick, he had not had the heart
To mar all thus.
STRANGER.
Come--come! all a not wrong.
Those old dark windows--
OLD MAN.
They're demolish'd too--
As if he could not see thro' casement glass!
The very red-breasts that so regular
Came to my Lady for her morning crumbs,
Won't know the window now!
STRANGER.
Nay they were high
And then so darken'd up with jessamine,
Harbouring the vermine;--that was a fine tree
However. Did it not grow in and line
The porch?
OLD MAN.
All over it: it did one good
To pass within ten yards when 'twas in blossom.
There was a sweet-briar too that grew beside.
My Lady loved at evening to sit there
And knit; and her old dog lay at her feet
And slept in the sun; 'twas an old favourite dog
She did not love him less that he was old
And feeble, and he always had a place
By the fire-side, and when he died at last
She made me dig a grave in the garden for him.
Ah I she was good to all! a woful day
'Twas for the poor when to her grave she went!
STRANGER.
They lost a friend then?
OLD MAN.
You're a stranger here
Or would not ask that question. Were they sick?
She had rare cordial waters, and for herbs
She could have taught the Doctors. Then at winter
When weekly she distributed the bread
In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear
The blessings on her! and I warrant them
They were a blessing to her when her wealth
Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, Sir!
It would have warm'd your heart if you had seen
Her Christmas kitchen,--how the blazing fire
Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs
So chearful red,--and as for misseltoe,
The finest bough that grew in the country round
Was mark'd for Madam. Then her old ale went
So bountiful about! a Christmas cask,
And 'twas a noble one! God help me Sir!
But I shall never see such days again.
STRANGER.
Things may be better yet than you suppose
And you should hope the best.
OLD MAN.
It don't look well
These alterations Sir! I'm an old man
And love the good old fashions; we don't find
Old bounty in new houses. They've destroyed
All that my Lady loved; her favourite walk
Grubb'd up, and they do say that the great row
Of elms behind the house, that meet a-top
They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think
To live to see all this, and 'tis perhaps
A comfort I shan't live to see it long.
STRANGER.
But sure all changes are not needs for the worse
My friend.
OLD MAN.
May-hap they mayn't Sir;--for all that
I like what I've been us'd to. I remember
All this from a child up, and now to lose it,
'Tis losing an old friend. There's nothing left
As 'twas;--I go abroad and only meet
With men whose fathers I remember boys;
The brook that used to run before my door
That's gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt
To climb are down; and I see nothing now
That tells me of old times, except the stones
In the church-yard. You are young Sir and I hope
Have many years in store,--but pray to God
You mayn't be left the last of all your friends.
STRANGER.
Well! well! you've one friend more than you're aware of.
If the Squire's taste don't suit with your's, I warrant
That's all you'll quarrel with: walk in and taste
His beer, old friend! and see if your old Lady
E'er broached a better cask. You did not know me,
But we're acquainted now. 'Twould not be easy
To make you like the outside; but within--
That is not changed my friend! you'll always find
The same old bounty and old welcome there.
poem by Robert Southey
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I walked with God once
'Twas long ago though as if
It were yesterday
I tried to run far from him
But he was always close by
tanka by Edwin Tanguma (20 August 2012)
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Yesterday
Yesterday
Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away,
Now it looks as through theyre here to stay oh I believe in yesterday
Suddenly Im not half the man I used to be, theres a shadow hanging over me
Oh yesterday came suddenly
Why she had to go I dont know she wouldnt say
I said something wrong now I long for yesterday
Yesterday love was such an easy game to play now I need a place to hide away oh
I believe in yesterday
Why she had to go I dont know she wouldnt say
I said something wrong now I long for yesterday
Yesterday love was such and easy game to play now I need a place to hide away
Oh I believe in yesterday
Hmmmmmmmmmm
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Granny Sullivan
A pleasant shady place it is, a pleasant place and cool -
The township folk go up and down, the children pass to school.
Along the river lies my world, a dear sweet world to me:
I sit and learn - I cannot go; there is so much to see.
But Granny she has seen the world, and often by her side
I sit and listen while she speaks of youthful days of pride;
Old Granny's hands are clasped; she wears her favourite faded shawl -
I ask her this, I ask her that: she says, 'I mind it all.'
The boys and girls that Granny knew, far o'er the seas are they,
But there's no love like the old love, and the old world far away;
Her talk is all of wakes and fairs - or how, when night would fall,
''Twas many a quare thing crept and came,' and Granny 'minds them all.'
The day she first met Sullivan - she tells it all to me -
How she was hardly twenty-one and he was twenty-three.
The courting days! the kissing days! - but bitter things befall
The bravest hearts that plan and dream. Old Granny 'minds it all.'
Her wedding-dress I know by heart; yes! every flounce and frill;
And the little home they lived in first, with the garden on the hill.
'Twas there her baby boy was born; and neighbours came to call,
But none had seen a boy like Jim - and Granny 'minds it all.'
They had their fights in those old days; but Sullivan was strong,
A smart quick man at anything; 'twas hard to put him wrong…
One day they brought him from the mine… (The big salt tears will fall)…
''Twas long ago, God rest his soul!' Poor Granny 'minds it all.'
The first dark days of widowhood, the weary days and slow,
The grim, disheartening, uphill fight, then Granny lived to know.
'The childer,' ah! they grew and grew - sound, rosy-cheeked and tall:
'The childer' still they are to her. Old Granny 'minds them all.'
How well she loved her little brood! Oh, Granny's heart was brave!
She gave to them her love and faith - all that the good God have.
They change not with the changing years; as babies just the same
She feels for them, though some, alas! have brought her grief and shame:
The big world called them here and there, and many a mile away:
They cannot come - she cannot go - the darkness haunts the day;
And I, no flesh and blood of hers, sit here while shadows fall -
I sit and listen - Granny talks; for Granny 'minds them all.'
Just fancy Granny Sullivan at seventeen or so,
In all the floating fin
poem by John Shaw Neilson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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