{"id":4739,"date":"2010-02-20T03:16:50","date_gmt":"2010-02-20T03:16:50","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/localhost:8000\/\/?p=4739"},"modified":"2010-02-20T03:16:50","modified_gmt":"2010-02-20T03:16:50","slug":"somebodys-mother","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/?p=4739","title":{"rendered":"Somebody\u2019s Mother"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"image\"<\/div>\n

by Mary Dow Brine<\/a><\/i><\/p>\n

The woman was old and ragged and gray<\/p>\n

And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.<\/p>\n

The street was wet with a recent snow<\/p>\n

And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.<\/p>\n

She stood at the crossing and waited long,<\/p>\n

Alone, uncared for, amid the throng<\/p>\n

Of human beings who passed her by<\/p>\n

Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.<\/p>\n

Down the street with laughter and shout,<\/p>\n

Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’<\/p>\n

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,<\/p>\n

Hailing the snow piled white and deep.<\/p>\n

Past the woman so old and gray<\/p>\n

Hastened the children on their way.<\/p>\n

Nor offered a helping hand to her—<\/p>\n

So meek, so timid, afraid to stir<\/p>\n

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet<\/p>\n

Should crowd her down in the slippery street.<\/p>\n

At last came one of the merry troop,<\/p>\n

The gayest lad of all the group;<\/p>\n

He paused beside her and whispered low,<\/p>\n

“I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go.”<\/p>\n

Her aged hand on his strong young arm<\/p>\n

She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,<\/p>\n

He guided the trembling feet along,<\/p>\n

Proud that his own were firm and strong.<\/p>\n

Then back again to his friends he went,<\/p>\n

His young heart happy and well content.<\/p>\n

“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,<\/p>\n

For all she’s aged and poor and slow,<\/p>\n

And I hope some fellow will lend a hand<\/p>\n

To help my mother, you understand,<\/p>\n

If ever she’s poor and old and grey,<\/p>\n

And her own dear boy is far away.”<\/p>\n

“Somebody’s mother” bowed low her head<\/p>\n

In her home that night, and the prayer she said<\/p>\n

Was, “God be kind to the noble boy,<\/p>\n

Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!”<\/p>\n

From the Writer’s Almanac. <\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

by Mary Dow Brine The woman was old and ragged and gray And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day. The street was wet [Read More]<\/a> \"image\"<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4739","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-diary"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4739","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4739"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4739\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4739"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4739"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/peter.murmann.me\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4739"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}