Somebody’s Dad

All day he sits and stares at life–
This man whose days are numbered.
His friends, his cronies, and his wife
For many years have slumbered.

Who knows what thoughts are in his head–
What hopes, what memories, what fears?
His world consists of chair and bed
And a few old souvenirs.

Patiently he awaits the end.
Gladly all his life he gave
To family, neighbor, and friend–
And his reward is but the grave.

June 16, 1940



Have you sat in a car on a Saturday night
Parked on some main street
And watched the ceaseless, endless procession
Of the many kinds of feet?

Light feet, gay feet, and some that are sad,
Old feet that slowly plod,
Young feet, bare feet, feet that have been far,
And feet expensively shod.

Handsome feet, ugly feet, eager, and tired,
Feet that are down at the heels;
Watch all the feet, and somehow you can tell
What each owner of them feels.

May 30, 1937

Hitch Hikers

They stood on the corner and waited long,
Forlorn, unwanted, amid the throng
Of automobiles that passed them by
Nor heeded the glance of their watchful eye.
They hail the driver of each car that comes
With lifted arms and extended thumbs,
But no one offers the longed-for ride
Because of fear or wealth or pride.
Their plight can be likened, I think, somehow,
To the businessman who furrows his brow
Nor gets anywhere in this whole world wide
Till someone more fortunate offers a ride.

August 1, 1937

Lost Friend

Perhaps I have seen you in some busy street
And, in passing, brushed your elbow–
And you are the friend I have wanted to meet
Whom now I shall never know.

Regrettable, surely, that we lost so much
That we never actually had;
For I could have helped you with one subtle touch,
And your smile could have made me glad.

September 29, 1940