From the Rock Island Argus, July 23, 1914.
His head was bald and wrinkles hung
In folds beneath his chin;
But, fancying his look was young,
He drew his waist-band in.
His shoulders drooped, his step was slow,
His sight was growing dim;
He thought the knowledge of it, though,
Belonged alone to him.
I did not tell him that I knew,
Nor hint that I could see;
It may be that some morning you
Will be as kind to me.