They sit in the winter gloaming, <br />And the fire burns bright between; <br />One has passed seventy summers, <br />And the other just seventeen. <br /> <br />They rest in a happy silence <br />As the shadows deepen fast; <br />One lives in a coming future, <br />And one in a long, long past. <br /> <br />Each dreams of a rush of music, <br />And a question whispered low; <br />One will hear it this evening, <br />One heard it long ago. <br /> <br />Each dreams of a loving husband <br />Whose brave heart is hers alone; <br />For one the joy is coming, <br />For one the joy has flown. <br /> <br />Each dreams of a life of gladness <br />Spent under the sunny skies; <br />And both the hope and the memory <br />Shine in the happy eyes. <br /> <br />Who knows which dream is the brightest? <br />And who knows which is the best? <br />The sorrow and joy are mingled, <br />But only the end is rest.<br /><br />Anonymous Americas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fifty-years-apart/
