Portrait from Wikimedia Commons. Credit: Fred Palumbo, World Telegram staff photographer. Used under Public domain / CC0. Processed and styled by Quotewise.
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My Sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane.
If one by one we counted people out For the least sin, it wouldn't take us long To get so we had no one left to live with. For to be social is to be forgiving.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves.
