In the Workhouse 1888
The walls are cold, the floors are bare
The air is thick with heavy care
We stand in line, no words to say
Yet in your eyes, I find my way
The days are long, the nights are thin
But when you touch my hand, I grin
A stolen warmth, a silent fire
That keeps alive our small desire
One day we’ll get jobs, work, and be free
And you’ll say, “Doris, marry me”
No more workhouse hunger or pain
We buy a house on the little lane
No velvet gowns, no candlelight
Just whispered hope in fading night
Among the sorrow, pain, and strain
Your love is where my life begins
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
Stay and read please. Like&follow me. If my poetry touches your ♥️ maybe leave a small tip
#Marie381UkWrites
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