My mother at nineteen

My mother would have turned 104 this year. She wrote this when she was 19. It’s beautiful is it not?


I called to Happiness that she should come to me,
That she should dwell with me and never go,
Yet heard she not.

I sought for Joy in all the lingering shades,
That mask the day’s retiring form from man,
Yet saw I not.

I prayed to her at night as to a God,
And held my arms out wide to supplicate,
Yet spake she not.

I promised her my love and in my breast
I felt my youthful heart crave her embrace,
Yet loved she not.

And then in learning’s page I sought to find
All that within my heart I longed to read,
Yet read I not.

In children’s eyes, in friendship with mankind,
In garish pleasure and wild life I sought;
Yet came she not.

And then, when in despair I ceased to seek at all,
Goodness and God came hand in hand to look for me.
And happiness was God.


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