Elizabeth von Schonberg

A funny little block of stone once stood Around,—it might have been but clay or wood So nondescript its value; no one could Have deemed it fair.

Chisels in careless hands there—passing by, Struck blindly—tell me, can cold marble cry?— Not with malice but indifference—why Did blades cut deep?

Sometimes the touch of gentle hands would bring A rounding curve—tell me, can marble sing?— And all the bitterness of years take wing When beauty calls?

A statue there was hidden all the while! Did chance give it the charms that so beguile, For on its face is carved the strangest smile— I wonder why? . . .

"You weigh a hundred-twenty-four? Now me—I must be eighty more, And that's what I don't understand— My! the shower sure is grand . . . I don't eat much; my husband, he Is fussy tho'; you ought to see The steak and mushroom dish I fix, And what a cocktail HE can mix!

"He's grand; he brings the limousine To take me home—I'm so all in— 'Now Baby, don't exert yourself, The can of ham there on the shelf'— He likes the sauce I make with wine And plenty sugar—cloves—it's fine With salad; say, do you like crab? Or lobster? I put just a dab Of celery—the girls all say My food is good when bridge we play.

"These days there is so much to do; Today we lunched 'til half past two. You're going out? Well, I'll relax Awhile myself; this is a tax On one's poor nerves, this awful heat— But all these diets it can beat; The less I eat, the more I weigh God! the steam is hot today!"

A blue lake dreaming Among sun-tanned hills; Bright leaves of poplar trees Drift silently down Upon the quiet surface Of the water, And rest there Like tired butterflies!

Limpid tones from a silver flute Fall upon the end-of-summer air Losing themselves, As do our cares, In the vast blueness Of the sky!

And thru the warm night The lake washed the shore, Making a sound That was like soft laughter Of a woman In her lover's arms!

I paused in the still September day To salute a comrade along the way; "A comrade in arms" I almost said And smiled at such nonsense, for instead The battle waged was a silent one; No sign of sword, or sound of gun— A fragrant violet quite alone Was growing there in a path of stone.

Flung down, no doubt, by some vagrant breeze In shade of the mighty redwood trees. What hours of dread did it bravely meet When men passed by on hurrying feet? With courage bred in the wintry gloom And valiant heart it had dared to bloom! Alone in the barren soil it grew And by my side there is always—you!

My gracious, gentle mother I wonder if she knew How much was taken from us When she departed, too? When bitter disappointments Would come all thru the years She had the gift of laughter That banished all our tears. "What does it matter, child?" she'd say, "The best is yet to come." Her voice, all lilting cadences, Her face a saintly poem . . . One marveled that a heart so gay Could also be so wise— And violets of Kerry Were blooming in her eyes.

Obvious magnificence Rarely moved her much; Did it seem affected? I only know the touch Of Spring in that first twilight That watches Winter pass, Or sprinkling of daisies There in the dewy grass, Could fill her with soft rapture, Some secret inner spring Would vibrate as to music And oh, how she could sing! Some source of strength she surely reached Spirit lost in song, When rich tones of her lovely voice Winged up thru every room;

Intent upon some simple task Unconscious of its charms Or crooning quaint lullabies, A child rocked in her arms. When pain's grim hand descended Or problems were in sight Her dauntless courage towered, And made the load seem light. Then, with her children singing— All six in lusty parts On firelit Christmas mornings . . . Dear memory in our hearts! My gracious, gentle mother, I wonder if you know How much you left here with us? But, oh, I miss you so!

A freckled, snub-nosed youngster came To me one day and said: "I've just been thinking, sitting there, Thinking about my Dad;

Not as my father, but—you know— As people—man to man!" And then the earnest eyes looked out Across the freckles' tan— Came back to look deep into mine. I felt a moment's awe— Yesterday's boy was growing up, And so much there I saw!

“Well, next to, maybe, Lincoln, he's The greatest man I know." My foolish throat was tight with pride, You see,—he's MY Dad, too!

What did you say, my darling, When you spoke to me, just then?

“I said that today I love you more Than yesterday or the day before."

I know—I heard you the first time— Just wanted to hear it again!

Why did you in a dream return last night When you had safely gone so long ago? I was surprised to see you standing there To find that you could still disturb me so!