Old Mothers

vic1.jpgOld Mothers~ by Charles Sarsfield Ross

I love old mothers–mothers with white hair
And kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet,
With murmured blessings over sleeping babes.
There is a something in their quiet grace
That sparks the calm of Sabbath afternoons;
A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering eyes
That far outreaches all philosophy.
Time, with caressing touch about them weaves
The silver-threaded fairy-shawl of age,
While all the echoes of forgotten songs
Seem joined to lend a sweetness to their speech.
Old mothers!–as they pass with slow-timed step,
Their trembling hands cling gently to youth’s strength.
Sweet mothers!–as they pass, one sees again
Old garden walks, old roses, and old loves.