POETRY.
A baby’s boot and a skein of wool, Faded and soiled and soft— Odd things you say, and no doubt you’re right, Bound a seaman’s neck this stormy night, Up in the yard aloft. i Most like it’s folly, but, mate, look here—- ? When first I went to sea, A woman stood on that far-off strand, With a wedding-ring on the small soft hand Which clung so dose on me. My wife—God bless her I—the day before She sat beside my foot And the sunlight kissed her yellow hair, And the dainty fingers deft and fair Knitted a baby’s boot. The voyage was over—-I came ashore— What think you I found there ? A grave with daisies sprinkled white, And a cottage empty and dark as night, And this beside the chair: The little boot—’twas unfinished still— The tangled skein lay near— But the knitter had gone away to rest, With the babe asleep on her quiet breast, Down in the churchyard drear. A .St. Just M*Kat.
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Bibliographic details
Kumara Times, Issue 411, 19 January 1878, Page 4
Word Count
167POETRY. Kumara Times, Issue 411, 19 January 1878, Page 4
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