As Fades A Faithful Wife

My Mary sews in this evening's light.
I watch and observe her keenly now--
the wan-dry roses on her cheek,
the sorrow stitched upon her brow,
and fine white hairs their shadows seek;
and ask where went her radiant years,
although her smile is tenderest still,
and burning eyes are not forgot.
But Time's a thief to fray and chill--
yet leaves for rose a forget-me-not.

by J. G. X. Borrege

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