Sometime, Somehow

           

Poor child, poor child, thy great blue eyes,

Behind which smiles a paradise,

Are filled as are the summer skies.

Thy face, tho’ tender, sweet and fair,

All smiles, illumined, debonair,

Is tinged with sadness and despair.

Thy heart, no longer young and hot,

Tho’ blithe still hath its aching spot,

But all the world knoweth it not.

And when thine hour of joy will be

I cannot tell, but I foresee

Sometime, somehow, ‘twill bide with thee.

Jan. 18, ‘94