What is home without our daughter?
     What then of all those folk we meet?
When her dimpled smile no longer
     Brightens the coming of our feet?
Days drag onward, long nights grow drear
     As time so coldly marches on;
And how we miss her golden cheer!
     When now those carefree days are gone.

Things we prize are quick to vanish,
     Fond hearts we love to pass away;—
And how soon, e'en in life's sorrow
     Yearn we for noisy hours to stay.
Eyes grow sad, fades life's brief glow,
     For golden days longtime have passed,
And it breaks mother's heart to know—
     Gay childhood's day is o'er at last.

Many folk bemoan their trifles,
     Trivial things to pass away,
But a daughter lost to childhood
     Breaks the heart from day to day.
Laid away tired broken toys;
     Her babyish prattle, antics past;
Upon these times we miss her noise.
     She has turned a woman at last.

                  **~Hilda~