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A Primrose Way

From the Rock Island Argus, August 5, 1913. By Henry Howland.

I see them trudging down the street.
    His head is bent, his hair is white;
Though she is old her smile is sweet,
    And best of all, her heart is light.

He fondly guards her from the harm
    That threatens where the crowd is dense.
Her hand is laid upon his arm
    With long, long cherished confidence.

He has not won enduring fame,
    Nor gathered riches that are vast;
But she is proud to bear his name,
    And he will love her till the last.

To him she still is young and fair,
    To her he still is brave and strong;
The way is strewn with roses where
    They slowly, gladly trudge along.

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