Poetry of Kansas

Plum Tree

You come white slow this chill raw spring.
The gardener mutters "weather!" I
Know better.  Years have dawdled by
Since days I saw your petals fly.
 
(That June long since when she was wed
They fell upon a bride's bright head.
That head now wears a little gray
That's come by life's sharp bitter way.
Dismay has pricked her with its sting
And grief has been her wedding-ring.)
 
I've had such grief as knows no cure___
As scarlet through gray texture runs.
But one thing I could not endure___
To see your beauty all at once
Or smell your fragrance suddenly.

__Margaret E. Haughawout.

 

Sheep's Clothing
Margaret E. Haughawout
Page 43
(Pittsburg, Kansas: __. 1929)

 
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December 31, 2002 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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