{"id":9182,"date":"2023-02-18T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2023-02-18T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newspaperhistory.com\/?p=9182"},"modified":"2023-02-18T01:00:00","modified_gmt":"2023-02-18T06:00:00","slug":"the-girl-that-mother-was","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/the-girl-that-mother-was\/","title":{"rendered":"The Girl That Mother Was"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p><em>From the <a href=\"https:\/\/chroniclingamerica.loc.gov\/lccn\/sn91064011\/1915-02-18\/ed-1\/seq-10\/\">Newark Evening Star, February 18, 1915<\/a>. By Nancy Byrd Turner.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n<p>When we travel back in summer to the old house by the sea<br\/>Where long ago my mother lived, a little girl like me,<br\/>I have the strangest notion that she still is waiting there,<br\/>A small child in a pinafore, with a ribbon in her hair.<br\/>I hear her in the garden when I go to pick a rose;<br\/>She follows me along the path on dancing tipsy-toes;<br\/>I hear her in the hayloft when the hay is slippery sweet\u2014<br\/>A rustle now, a scurry now, a sound of scampering feet;<br\/>Yet though I sit as still as still, she never comes to me,<br\/>The funny little laughing girl my mother used to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n<p>Sometimes I nearly catch her as she dodges here and there,<br\/>Her white dress fluttering round a tree or flashing up a stair;<br\/>Sometimes I almost put my hand upon her apron strings\u2014<br\/>Then just before my fingers close, she\u2019s gone again like wings.<br\/>A sudden laugh, a scrap of song, a football on the lawn,<br\/>And yet, no matter how I run, forever up and gone!<br\/>A fairy or a firefly could hardly flit so fast.<br\/>When we come home in summer, I\u2019ve given up at last.<br\/>Then I lay my cheek on mother\u2019s. If there\u2019s only one for me,<br\/>I\u2019d rather have her, anyway, than the girl she used to be!<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>From the Newark Evening Star, February 18, 1915. By Nancy Byrd Turner. When we travel back in summer to the old house by the seaWhere long ago my mother lived, a little girl like me,I have the strangest notion that she still is waiting there,A small child in a pinafore, with a ribbon in her [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[35,3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9182","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-newark-evening-star","category-newspapers"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9182","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=9182"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9182\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9182"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9182"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9182"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}