Masqueraders

My grief will still allow me to complain,
But you who chant the Pollyanna strain,
Or whistle shrill glad lyrics in the dark,
Why did they force you to the wall? what stark
Lean precipice do you peer down of nights . . .
What is this ragged edge your scared soul flaunts
For courage, that you wing your head in face of pain?

^__Margaret E. Haughawout.

Sheep's Clothing
Margaret E. Haughawout
Page 15
(Pittsburg, Kansas: __. 1929)