Poem by Edith Matilda Thomas

The Mother Who Died Too

She was so little—little in her grave,
     The wide earth all around so hard and cold—
She was so little! therefore did I crave
     My arms might still her tender form enfold.
She was so little, and her cry so weak
     When she among the heavenly children came—
She was so little—I alone might speak
     For her who knew no word nor her own name.

1. Her Christmas Present
2. Refreshments for Santa Claus
3. The Firebrand (Northern Ohio, Christmas Eve, 1804)
4. The Christmas Sheaf
5. “I Ought to Mustn't”

Print

1230 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version