Poems (White)/Common Lot

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COMMON LOT

A sad little face streaked with woe,
A white wrinkled face lined with care,
A thin withered face, furrowed so,
A pale weasened face, with white hair.

The finger of time's hard at work,
With all that makes life not a joke;
The weak or strong may not shrink:
'Twill come to us all,—common folk.