3/23/39 - Cleveland Letter - "A Mother's Plaint" 3/23/39 - Cleveland Letter - "A Mother's Plaint"

A Mother's Plaint
(published at a later date in the Cleveland Press, date unknown)

The spring thaw has come - and the ground is all wet;
The mud oozes up everywhere,
Two rollicking boys and a young woolly pup
Track in mud, ‘till I'm quite in despair.

Just a dash for a drink, or the archery set,
Or the marbles cached in the buffet;
And dirt paths zig-zag through the house I've just cleaned;
And helpless, I'm filled with dismay.

But hark! weary mother! The years are not long
"till those boisterous feet will gain poise,
And tread, all love-laden, to some other door;
Then, what of the mud? and the Boys?

Ah, come in, my laddies, and don't mind the tracks,
My broom and mop-handle are light;
And so is my heart - for we've got you safe home.
Let me tuck you in snug for the night.


Hello, Folks! - How are you all this muddy spring weather? Isn't it grand to wake up to the tune of singing birds!

In justice to the boys I must deny part of that poem, for I'm not in despair at all - nor even filled with dismay, except when a very muddy pup wiggles in past someone who enters the front door. Luckily, we have an outside door leading to the basement, where all rubbers are left, and where a wet, dirty dog recovers his respectability. Inadvertently Buster (our dog) did the nesting birds a good turn this spring. A month or so ago, in transforming our feather pillows to new cases, I put the feathers first into a big, loose bag - a pillow-full at a time - and hung it outdoors for an airing. Buster - who had sneaked out - found the swaying bag a grand plaything, and when I discovered him, he was creating his own snowstorm. I was ready to annihilate him - for goose feathers are precious, and now Charles' pillow is considerably "reduced." But the birds are appreciative of the nest material to be found in our back yard.

I believe you would enjoy the inside story connected with this week's poem. I had prepared a short feature story - my first - for a local newspaper, and then decided to add a poem or two in case the story didn't click. I wrote this one - straight from the heart - but it seemed too sentimental to offer to a city editor; so I sat up two or three hours one night, to write what I thought was rather a clever one - sure fire, and all that sort of thing. Well, my hard-boiled editor did accept the story - after having me rewrite it - and then viewed it rather skeptically. The "clever" poem didn't get to first base - or even out of the batter's box; but "A Mothers Plaint" appealed to him at once, because, he said, the old-fashioned virtues and family life and family love have universal appeal. Isn't that gratifying, in this "modern" age, of so-called "individual freedom?"

"Window Shopping," written a year ago, is a true recital of my experience at that time, which made a deep impression on my mind. Happiness is truly a state of mind. This fact was proven by a young matron of our acquaintance. She and her husband were on the same committee of our large Sunday School class, as Virgil and I. We met in the various homes; and her home is a mansion compared to ours; broadloom carpets, oriental rugs, gorgeous drapes, handsome antiques, exquisite china - everything that a woman could wish for - except children. Her husband is a fine, intelligent, gentle soul, who "suffereth long and is kind." She expressed great dissatisfaction with her home, and wished she might have one like a certain millionaire's daughter, in whose home we met some time before. Discontent, like wormwood, embittering her very soul. It's too bad.

Heart-warming letters have come from "home folks" this week, and oh, what an inspiration they are! It is an act of real generosity - to overcome the almost universal distaste for letter writing - to take time out of one's busy life - to write a word of encouragement, and to give a picture of one's daily life. I do appreciate it. **** Personal Notes:

Why do lovely girls - useful and needed - like Genevieve Elrick - have to be taken?

Thinking over the lives of people like Mr. Kennedy and Homer Buchanan, why are the gentlest, kindest called upon to suffer the most?

Why are Titian and Olive Rose called upon to carry such a heavy cross?

There must be a purpose back of it all.

Best wishes to Rev. Miller in his new pastorate. I know Saltsburg is sorry to lose him.

Congratulations to Mrs. McKelvy of her fine prize. To think of spending one-third of one's time (or there-abouts) on such a luxurious mattress! It's quite a strain - not to covet. (We'd better skip all this, Mr. Editor. Sorry to have started such foolishness). Best wishes to all.

Florence B. Taylor

Next - 4/4/39 - Window-Shopping

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