Harlow Clarke

SOMETHING within her makes her live so long—

It pays no heed that all her friends are dead.

Her age is moving as a simple song,

Wailing that happy days long since are dead.

Something forgets that all her teeth have dropt,

That eyes no longer serve to see her ways.

Time seems not weary of this weed uncropt,

And draws her on into these newer days.

She does not know at night if she will rise

And wake again to live another day.

Eternity of age now makes her wise—

A thing on point of passing, hear her say:

“The moon outlasts my days; the sleepless hounds

Bark ever in the night—strange haunting sounds.”