Old Sister Mary Martha by Myra Morris

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Old Sister Mary Martha walks
   Behind the convent gate,
A-down the only path she knows.
Past blossoming tree and budding rose,
Counting her trembling steps, she goes,
   And makes the turn at eight.

Frail as a Winter bloom is she,
   And old, so very old.
Her eyes are like pale, frosted glass,
Her rusty skirts above the grass
Make scarce a whisper as they pass,
   Scarce stir the leafy mould.

Old Sister Mary Martha halts
   Beside the plum's white lace,
And for one moment fragrant things
From sweet, remembered, far-off Springs
Merge with the rush of angels' wings
   And lie along her face!

First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 29 October 1929

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on October 29, 2014 8:09 AM.

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