Poetry of Kansas

My Rose

I was born in Keosaqua, Iowa
On the river, Des Moines,
The seventeenth day of March,
Eighteen hundred and fifty-nine.
I left there when a baby,
Which I now relate,
For Hickman, Kentucky,
That grand old blue grass state.
 
Where they raise fine blooded horses,
Tobacco, the best on earth,
And tote the water and wood up-hill
From the spring beneath the birch;
The boys and girls are witty,
Energetic and plucky;
For genuine hospitality,
You can't beat old Kentucky.
 
To-day I forget the present,
Iowa, my heart is still with you,
The land where nature marvels,
From December till rosy June;
You are my happy birthplace,
Though I am far away,
With you I commune in memory,
As your child of yesterday.
 
I have seen the rose acacia,
And star flower wau-au-bau-nee,
The lily-of-the-valley
On Lake Ponchartraine;
But of all the sweetest roses,
There are few and far between,
That compare in rarest beauty,
With the rose of Ironton, Missouri.
        "My Rose," Mrs. Annie D.

The Plains Poems in Kansas
J. P. Dunn
(Independence: --. 19??)
Page 3

 
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April 25, 2005 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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