Collected poems by Matt W. Alderson
s stock of wealth; Still, freely, lavishly he gives it her, And wooes her back to health again, thro' love. About the hearth a troop of children comes, And as he soothes and cheers their restless hearts, His garnered wealth, like snow, fast melts away. The mine can be depended on no more; Old age creeps on apace, and in his heart He feels the strained timbers giving 'way. He feeds now on the wealth in other days Invested where 'twould bring a safe return. With tottering steps yet proud he walks the streets, And still has smiles for everyone he meets.
Upon his bed with withered, palsied frame, Behold an aged man! A life well spent Is drawing to a close. About him stand The loved ones of his home. They prop him up As with a halting voice, yet clear, he speaks: "My treasured store of love will soon be yours. Waste not the capital I leave behind In shedding bitter tears above my grave; I shall not feel thy love, and if I
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