FOR MY MOTHER, WITHA NEW BUTTON-BOX
When I was small, great joy it was to seeYour button-box: the deathless comedyOf blowing on the lid enacted, wideIt flew, I scanned the treasure-trove tongue-tied,Cassim in caves of Haberdashery!The small pearl “glove” evoked essential glee,The large white linen was an ecstasyAnd each gilt hook was covetously eyedWhen I was small.Lost are the clothes whereon those buttons be—But not the love that planned the stitchery,The button-baby is herself a bride—But sends you this with love, and writes inside“You are far dearer than you were to meWhen I was small.”
When I was small, great joy it was to seeYour button-box: the deathless comedyOf blowing on the lid enacted, wideIt flew, I scanned the treasure-trove tongue-tied,Cassim in caves of Haberdashery!The small pearl “glove” evoked essential glee,The large white linen was an ecstasyAnd each gilt hook was covetously eyedWhen I was small.Lost are the clothes whereon those buttons be—But not the love that planned the stitchery,The button-baby is herself a bride—But sends you this with love, and writes inside“You are far dearer than you were to meWhen I was small.”
When I was small, great joy it was to seeYour button-box: the deathless comedyOf blowing on the lid enacted, wideIt flew, I scanned the treasure-trove tongue-tied,Cassim in caves of Haberdashery!The small pearl “glove” evoked essential glee,The large white linen was an ecstasyAnd each gilt hook was covetously eyedWhen I was small.Lost are the clothes whereon those buttons be—But not the love that planned the stitchery,The button-baby is herself a bride—But sends you this with love, and writes inside“You are far dearer than you were to meWhen I was small.”