LITTLE MOTHER.

LITTLE MOTHER.

(IN A DEPRESSED AREA.)

 

One at her breast and two at her feet,

Trudging along the dull, squalid street;

Face lined with care but comely and sweet—

Little mother.

 

Irksome her labours tending her flock,

Often her day a round of the clock;

Felon in cell! Your comforts but mock

Little mother.

 

Often her lot is squalor and want,

Wolf on the doorstep hungry and gaunt;

Cares of the day her fitful dreams haunt

Little mother.

 

Same daily struggle, on thro’ the years,

Only her courage quelling her fears;

No time for shedding vain, idle tears—

Little mother.

 

Sister of ease, your scorning forbear,

She envies not your freedom from care,

Counting her blessings precious and rare—

Little mother.

 

You, without daughters! You, without sons!

Think of the trials, the risks that she runs;

Builder of Empires! Feeder of guns!—

Little mother.

 

One at her breast and two at her feet—

Symbol of womanhood, noble, complete;

Honour the name—a name ever sweet—

Little mother.

 

TOM MCEWAN.

Ref. Hamilton Advertiser.

25/2/1939. Page 14.

Courtesy of Wilma Bolton 2005.