When I Grow

by Michael Shindler (February 2020)

Woman with Dead Child, Käthe Kollwitz, 1903

“When I grow old, have lost my hair,

Her hair will be white, her face fair.

“Never alone, ever a pair,

Knowing sorrow, but not despair.

“O, loss that loves and moves like air

Into my heart, into my care . . . “

There went the wind, there went the wild;

There went a song quite neatly styled.

The dirt is trod, the stones are piled;

The storm has passed, the sky is mild.

Hear of this from a mouth that smiled;

Hear this from the mouth of a child.

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Michael Shindler is a writer living in Washington, DC. His work has appeared in publications including The American Conservative, The American Spectator, National Review Online, New English Review, University Bookman, and Providence. Follow him on Twitter @MichaelShindler.

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