I went downtown - and fretted like a dud;
Will Charlie lose his rubbers in the mud?
When boys come in for cookies - and for more -
Will they take note that I just scrubbed the floor?
It's drizzling now; will those young scamps get wet?
Will daughter watch the meat? And so I fret.
In riding home, I sat beside a sweet
And friendly woman; oh, I heard the beat
Of that fond mother's heart. Her child lay ill
In Cleveland Clinic - far from home - and still
That mother smiled! My troubles? How inane!
This mother's child had tumor on the brain!
Florence B. Taylor
Next - 7/7/55 - A-Ridin' on a Raft
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