"One Touch Of Nature"
A wounded Mexican to jail;
I calmly wrote his message down,
Unmoved, I listened to his wail
Hour by hour, till he died.
And when Mat Grover killed his
I raised him from a pool of blood,
Half curdled to a slimy mud
That smeared the floor and sill and
I wore my shoes out, stains and all.
But when, with small inquiring
So plaintive in the dark___
I heard a baby kitten mew,
Because the sergeant shot it
I wept the whole night through.
Pagan, November, 1918.
__Elizabeth N. Barr.
The High Winds of Home
Elizabeth N. Barr
(Olathe: privately published. 1922)