Poem by Sarah Teasdale
My window-pane is starred with frost,
The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel, and the wind
Is like a two-edged sword to smite.
God pity all the homeless ones,
The beggars pacing to and fro,
God pity all the poor to-night
Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.
My room is like a bit of June,
Warm and close-curtained fold on fold,
But somewhere, like a homeless child,
My heart is crying in the cold.
Today my husband is celebrating birthday #76.
Here’s a poem in honor of the occasion.
A HAPPY OLD AGE
A little more tired at the close of the day,
a little less anxious to have our own way.
A little less care for gain or gold,
a little more zest for the days of old.
A broader view and a saner mind,
a little more thought for all mankind.
A little more love for the friends of youth,
a little more zeal for established truth.
A little more charity in our views,
a little less thirst for the latest news.
A little more leisure to sit and dream,
a little more real those things unseen.
—Author unknown to me.
Just a little word of kindness,
just a little word of love,
just a little smile of tenderness,
all are blessings from above.
Just a little thought of comfort,
just a token that you care,
just a little gesture of sympathy,
may be answer to a prayer.
Just a little smile of happiness,
just a little song of peace,
just a word of praise at eventide,
will give the soul release.
For the little bit of kindness
and the little bit of care,
the little bit of tenderness,
are the essence of a prayer.
—Author unknown to me