His every word my casual question brought;
Some hot, relentless hate of life; a fierce
And breathless horror of some bond that caught
And held him fixed to circumstances which
Were now (though once perhaps a golden tie)
Abhorrent shackles... Sitting in the niche
Above the lake we talked and then passed by.
I can't recall his face; but do the shame
I felt at having seen his heart: made bare,
Because, like God, I gave no answer, came
No nearer, did not listen much, nor care.
Does this hot shame sweep God when through barrage
He sees my bared heart, stripped of camouflage?
__Margaret E. Haughawout.
Margaret E. Haughawout
(Pittsburg, Kansas: __. 1929)