HUSKS

She looked at her neighbour's house in the light of the waning day -

A shower of rice on the steps, and the shreds of a bride's bouquet.

And then she drew the shade, to shut out the growing gloom,

But she shut it into her heart instead. ( Was that a voice in the room? )

‘ My neighbour is sad,’ she sighed,‘ like the mother bird who sees

The last of her brood fly out of the nest to make its home in the trees’ -

And then in a passion of tears —‘ But, oh, to be sad like her:

Sad for a joy that has come and gone!’ ( Did some one speak, or stir? )

She looked at her faded hands, all burdened with costly rings;

She looked on her widowed home, all burdened with priceless things.

She thought of the dead years gone, of the empty years ahead -

( Yes, something stirred and something spake, and this was what it said:)

‘ The voice of the Might Have Been speaks here through the lonely dusk;

Life offered the fruits of love; you gathered only the husk.

There are jewels ablaze on your breast where never a child has slept.’

She covered her face with her ringed old hands, and wept and wept and wept.