This poem was written by my great grandmother about herself in the 1920's. Although I have no way to verify if it was penned during that time (I doubt this), I can verify that it was written prior to 1952, when it was published in Sonnets of Eve. I find it amusing that her granddaughter (my mother) could say the same about her mother (Clara's daughter). My mother broke the mold though, exchanging her mother's rhetoric for right-or-wreck. I love my mom! I also loved both my grandma and my great grandma, with every perfect flaw!
"For black is black, and white is white,"
my mother used to say;
I scoffed at narrowness and said
that sometimes both were gray.
But strangely, she at eighty-odd
can still new colors find;
while I, at less than half her age
am almost color blind.