The Old Maid

THE OLD MAID

Come sit beside me, tiny one.
For just these moments leave your play.
Come let me look beneath the jam
And ponder musingly the way
Your face is formed to mirror his.
Your small square hands that tightly grasp
Your jelly bread are images.
(I used to know a stronger clasp.)

Come show me what your playthings are
And tell me what you do that's fun.
I wonder, do you have a swing
And mud pies baking in the sun?
And do you like to bounce a ball
And run with other girls and boys?
I'll sit beside you just this hour
And watch you with your cherished toys.

And then I'll go. I only plan
To know you for a little while
And then forget. But this he knows--
He might have seen me in your smile.

Story ID:	394
Written by:	Wanda Molsberry Bates (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Poem
Location:	Manhattan KS USA
Year:	1950