SOFT is the tread of Time to those
Whose minds in gentle mould are cast:
He loves to fling a Birthday rose,
To greet them as he hurries past.
With gracious words he counts their hours,
And marks their days with deeds of love,
Bestrews the yearly step with flow’rs,
And leaves the rest to One above.
(Emily Mary Barton)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Time Poems, Past Poems, Birthdays PoemsBased on Keywords: bestrews