MY SISTERS.
Like flowers that softly bloom together
Upon one fair and fragile stem,
Mingling their sweets in sunny weather
Ere strange rude hands have parted them,
So were we linked unto each other,
Sweet Sisters, in our childish hours,
For then one fond and gentle mother
To us was like the stem to flowers;
She was the golden thread, that bound us
In one bright chain together here,
Till Death unloosed the cord around us
And we were severed far and near.
Upon one fair and fragile stem,
Mingling their sweets in sunny weather
Ere strange rude hands have parted them,
So were we linked unto each other,
Sweet Sisters, in our childish hours,
For then one fond and gentle mother
To us was like the stem to flowers;
She was the golden thread, that bound us
In one bright chain together here,
Till Death unloosed the cord around us
And we were severed far and near.
The floweret's stem, when broke or shattered,
Must cast its blossoms to the wind,
Yet, round the buds, though widely scattered
The same soft perfume still we find;
And thus, although the tie is broken,
That linked us round our mother's knee,
The memory of words we've spoken,
When we were children light and free,
Must cast its blossoms to the wind,
Yet, round the buds, though widely scattered
The same soft perfume still we find;
And thus, although the tie is broken,
That linked us round our mother's knee,
The memory of words we've spoken,
When we were children light and free,
