Читать книгу Cross Roads - Margaret E. Sangster - Страница 11

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Jus' a little pair o' gloves,

Sorter thin an' worn;

With th' fingers neatly darned,

Like they had been torn.

Jus' a little pair o' gloves,

Not s' much ter see. …

Not a soul on earth can guess

What they mean ter me!

Jus' a little pair o' gloves,

Sorter tossed aside;

Limp an' quiet, folded up,

Like their soul had died.

Every finger seems ter look

Lonely, an' my hand

Trembles as it touches them—

Who can understand?

Jus' a little pair o' gloves,

Ah, she tossed 'em there. …

Singin'-like, she turned ter go,

Didn't have a care!

Kissin' them? A prayer, a tear?

God, my head WILL bow—

Jus' a little pair o' gloves,

. … Empty, now!