Tomorrow May Be Too Late
The forest trees defended,
When youth was all a-bloom
In memory still is standing.
Though we are far away
From schoolhouse, home and I
And even' time we kneel in pray
For those who have gone above us.
We can see the spring beneath larch
And the path each day we we
To and from the old school house
In childhood days we attended
Memory to a gray haired man
Is as pleasant as September,
And with the crimson autumn le
Old Winter time is blended.
We live to learn in life's hard school
That youth is God's own blessing,
And school days are the sweetest
To Heaven that we can offer.
The parting words of those we I
Nature has welled forever,
Scenes so sacred to us all
in one grave we'll lie together.
The words that are unspoken
Are words that often sting
That start the tear-drops flowing
From the brow of strongest men
If you have any flowers to off er,
Place them on their plate.
-J. P. and Mrs. Dunn,
The Plains Poems in Kansas