Poem inspired by Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
-- necessity being the mother of invention -- but, dear me, let us be elegant or die! as much out of place as a colt in a flower garden no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping rich people have about as many worries as poor ones love casts out fear, and gratitude can conquer pride there is a charm about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people I'd rather see you poor men's wives, if you were happy, beloved, contented, then queens on thrones, without self-respect and peace as if the spirit of '76 inspired them God seems so far away I can't find Him 'Prunes and prisms' are my doom The quiet scholar, sitting among his books, was still the head of the family for laughter is ready when hearts are light money cannot be refinement of nature when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon the young authoress laid her firstborn on her table, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as an ogre as if they were unfledged angels he is a gentleman in spirt of the brown-paper parcels the Old World, which is always new and beautiful to young eyes talking English very loud, as if that would make people understand him she preferred imaginary heroes to real ones the poor man must have needed a deal of food after teaching idiots all day being asked to cut off her baby's legs in order that it might fit into a new cradle I almost wish I hadn't any conscience, it's so inconvenient I should be homesick for you even in heaven the mission of politicians seemed to be calling each other names a paternal priest taught his flock music too ethereal to uplift a mortal woe for he lets me read his heart (as I dare say my reader has during this little homily) the first love is the best
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