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The Woman At The Gate

Robert Service

"Where is your little boy to-day?"
      I asked her at the gate.
"I used to see him at his play,
      And often I would wait:
He was so beautiful, so bright,
      I watched him with delight.
"He had a tiny motor-car
      And it was painted red;
He wound it up; it ran so far,
      So merrily it sped.
I think he told me that it was
      A gift from Santa Claus."

The woman said: "It ran so far
      He followed it with joy.
Then came a real motor-car,--
      He sought to save his toy . . .
My little boy is far away
      Where angel children play.

"His father perished in the War;
      Now I am all alone,
And death is all I'm longing for . . ."
      So said with face of stone
That woman. "Curse their crazy cars
                 And cruel wars!"

Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 18 Dec 2018 8:55 AM | Viewed: 4414 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/4224/ | Viewed on 18 December 2018.
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