She came, a few spring flowers in her hand--
Somebody's mother, sweet as mine or yours.
To see her was to feel and understand
The bond of sisterhood. How lovingly
The years had lined her face and bent her form!
A trim nurse entered: There began to be
A smile like April sunshine after storm,
"For you, Miss Nancy!"--Eyes like sun-up glow--
"You made no difference. Your touch was light
As winds in southern gardens breathe and blow.
You held these hands--your smooth ones pearly white."
Her voice held mellow flute-tones of the lark--
What matter that her chrysalis was dark!
