Francis Turner
I
could not run or play
in boyhood.
In manhood I could only sip the cup,
Not drink –
For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased.
Yet I lie here
Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows:
There is a garden of acacia,
Catalpa threes, and arbors sweet with vines
There on that afternoon in June
By Mary’s side –
Kissing her with my soul upon my lips
It suddently took flight.
in boyhood.
In manhood I could only sip the cup,
Not drink –
For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased.
Yet I lie here
Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows:
There is a garden of acacia,
Catalpa threes, and arbors sweet with vines
There on that afternoon in June
By Mary’s side –
Kissing her with my soul upon my lips
It suddently took flight.
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