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The Lost Baby by Clara G. Dolliver


She wandered off one dismal day;

No one was by to bid her stay:

The earth was white, the sky was gray,

When the poor little baby wandered away.

The sun went down with crimson crown

Behind the clouds and the tree-tops brown:

The cold road stared with a colder frown

When the poor little feet went wandering down.

Her mother lived up in the shining sky,

Thought poor little baby, wondering why,

As hours and days and weeks went by,

She never came down at her baby's cry.

If the crimson wave in the west led true,

The skyward road she surely knew:

She heeded not that the sharp winds blew,

Or her cold little feet sore tired grew.

She hummed some broken baby song,

And talked to herself as she trudged along:

She feared no failure, recked no wrong,

But she thought that the way was lone and long.

Tired and cold, she lingered to rest

Under a snow-drift's treacherous crest:

She cuddled herself in a tiny nest,

White and cold as her mother's breast.

They found her there on the snowy ground,

Her silky hair with snowflakes crowned.

She made no sign, she breathed no sound,

But the skyward road she had surely found.