From A Poet's Desk....
i have days filled with images,
smells, sounds, tastes...
images that talk without speaking,
that ache, that cut, that bleed...
small things, never noticed, or forgotten.
remember staring at sunlight dancing
in pine sap, alone in the woods, a small boy.
the way my bare feet felt in the creek,
the way my mother talked about god,
as if they were intimate friends.
the day my best friend's brother died,
we were about seven, i think he was five...
the freckles on the face of the girl i loved,
in the fifth grade...
and the day of mourning, alone in the woods,
when her family moved away.
the day President Kennedy was murdered...
the streets i walked at night as a teenager.
the questions, always the questions...
the call i took the night
my grandfather drowned.
the funeral when my brother died...
old frame houses, wood chopped, gardens tilled...
the way factories smelled, the stink of the jail cell.
passion, sweet passion, the body of my lover,
and music, always music....
classical, blues, rock, country, bluegrass, folk...
i loved them all!
dimlit bars, silent libraries, thumb stuck out
on endless highways... going, always going...
the feel of the wind at my back.
going up, and coming down,
shaking the monkey off my back.
and one by one those i loved died...
leaves fallen from the tree...
sleeping in empty churches,
or deep south drunk tanks....
the days each of my children were born,
and each time i lost it all...
a thousand prayers, a thousand doubts,
and moments of pure faith....
black and white, and all the colors
of living in tiny slivers....
i thank each and every memory
with eternal gratitude...
images of a life lived,
that throb and haunt the night!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Toy Caldwell
Every time I hear “Can’t you see” I think of you
“Can't you see, can't you see
What that woman’s been doing to me”
I loved your blend of rock, blues, country and even jazz
You stayed true and never moved from South Carolina
You were born and raised there and died in Sparta
You started The Marshall Tucker Band, a great band
You served in Viet Nam
What you see was what you got
I loved your lead guitar played with your thumb
Your brother Tommy played the Bass in the band
When he was killed in a car accident you were so hurt
You only had one wife and you were real
You lived a short life but you touched mine my friend
Every time I ride thru the Carolinas I think of you and Tom
Toy Caldwell I miss you and your music lives on and on
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hope Bailey Cruz
hope bailey cruz
died at birth
for 2 minutes
the doctors
brought her back
hope bailey cruz
heared voices
ever since that night
and what had happened
the night she was born
hope bailey cruz
nearly drowned
at age 2
her brother hunter
saved her
but her gift
never went away
hope bailey cruz
was only 8
she heared voices
and seen things
that weren't really there
hope bailey cruz
had family who
didn't believe her
the only one
who did believe
was her sister samantha
who was in grade 6
hope bailey cruz
died without a clue
her parents got fed up
with all her lying
but she was telling the truth
hope bailey cruz
got so hurt
she ran away
she ran so far
she sliped
into a big hole
in the dark
deep woods
hope bailey cruz
tiny body hit a pipe
that tore a hole
right through
her tiny body
she died slowly
in the next past hour
in extreme pain
for her family
could've stoped this
if only they listened to her
but they never
gave her the chance
by: crystal sonier
age: 16
poem by Natalia Anna Joelie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Loved You Once
I loved you once, with all my heart, my spirit, body, soul...
I loved you once, with all not part, with marriage as my goal...
I loved you once, with all my strength, as if I were on fire...
I loved you once, with all at length, as if love meant desire...
I loved you once, with all my dreams, which came by day and night...
I loved you once, with all extremes spent on this one delight...
I loved you once, with all God gave, with passion borne of joy...
I loved you once, with all to save romance and not some ploy...
I loved you once, with love divine, not holding back a thing...
I loved you once, with love benign that caused my heart to sing...
I loved you once, with happiness no other man has known...
I loved you once, with prayers to bless yet now I pray alone...
I loved you once, with each embrace, until the day you died...
I loved you once, with all God's grace yet now what sighs are sighed.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She had loved
She had loved,
Loved with the passion of a thousand loves
All of her hurt and pain went into this love
A love that no one had ever known
The ache and hurt from all the others went into the act of loving
The abuse of all the others went into her passion
The pain of rejection from family and friends went into the love making
She could never feel the hurt again so she put it into the passion and heat they two had when they where together
And when she was alone she would cry for the pain
Pain for the fear that she might never love
Cry for all the abuse that was put onto her body
Some in part to find love
Some in part to feel something instead of being loved
She used her body as a vessel to get what she wanted
And never showed love when doing it
She gave herself to forget herself and all the pain and fear and anguish
She gave and gave and showed no emotion in doing so
She knew that no one would really know her
Or really loved her
They were all just lovers without the love and all of the passion
She used what she knew
And passion is what she knew best
She had passion in the way she walked and talked and all the things that she did
She never showed her true colors
Until she found that love
And poured it all into the love making that she gave and cried for a different reason
She now cried for the loved that she had found and wanted
She gave all of her and more then needed to give to one person
That love that she had never had and wanted so desperately she gave to this person and that person never really understood her
She thought that this would never end and never wanted it to
But when the love in the love making faded it was just empty
And from then on all of her became empty
She did not know how to show true love and slowly lost her passion
All of her passion for all of the things that made her lovable
So now she was never to find that love again
Now she was passionless and empty
Empty was she would remain to be
Hallow once again just a vessel for others to abuse
and confuse for what they thought was love
Love that she would and could never feel again
poem by Ruthy Fernandez
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Mexican Blood
She was a mexican girl, she had mexican blood
I seen it the night that she died
She was a mexican girl, she had mexican blood
Oh how she could drive that mexican boy wild
Hes on the run near el paso
And hell cross all across america
Hes leaving behind old mexico
And his girl that pretty mexican girl that died
She had mexican blood
He was a mexican boy with a mexican smile
And he drank a little tequila
He was a mexican boy in a mexican town
And oh how he loved his young senorita
Now and then hed cross the rio grande
And hed come back a wanted hunted man
And his mexican girl was his mexican prize
And that girl was his girl that pretty mexican girl that died
She had mexican blood
He was a cowboys boy and a cowboys son
And on his side he had a gun
He was a cowboys boy, he was the law
He was out looking for someone
That night he rode into town
The mexican boy tried to gun him down
Thats when his heart broke up inside cause lying on the ground
Was his girl that pretty mexican girl, she died
She had mexican blood
He loved her and she loved him
And when he lost her
Oh how it hurt him
He loved her
I seen it the night she died
Thats when he lost her
Now his heart is broken
He loved her and she loved him
And when he lost her he lost everything
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Way Back Then
Night is falling
Were doing the things we do
You are acting just like me
Im acting just like you
Do you remember
When you were my friend?
Thats the way Id like things
Just like way back then
Babys sleeping
Brother is on the run
I am out undoing
All the good Ive done
If you loved me
Tell you what I would do
Wrap the world in silver foil
Bring it home to you.
Lately I feel
That I cant pretend
I may never ever see
The likes of you again
I take a walk, I come back home
Then I sit a spell
Watch the ponies dance around
The empty wishing well.
Night has fallen
Ive said the things I did
The only baby sleeping
Is when I was a kid
Do you remember
When you were my friend?
Thats the way Id like things
Just like way back then.
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Have Mercy!
Have Mercy!
with final thoughts
i walk these streets,
past vacant buildings hallowed.
in silent mourning,
my heartbeat joining,
the concrete scarred by living.
passing strangers hurrying,
as if they had a life to return to.
while the shouts and cursing of working men,
rings inside the empty walls!
past tenemant buildings,
and unemployed stoops,
and eyes staring from windows.
dogs too hungry to bark,
squad cars passing slow,
tis the funeral of poverty.
while meth lab food stamp children,
sharpen knives against the curb.
and everything's grey, even the sounds,
the air is drunk with anger.
i caught a ride
with a trucker wired,
who mumbled slamming gears.
out into the country
once green and rich...
now brown and deserted.
fields not worked,
farm's foreclosed,
houses left to ghosts and memories.
tractors rusting in the sun,
the air is drunk with anger.
back into town,
past libraries closed,
and churches that ache with empty.
i can hear the sound
of the distant bells...
be it freedom or infinity.
past hospitals full,
and graveyards that move
with shadows in the night.
back to the small room
where i cant sleep...
where god weeps in the stillness.
America, America...
the air is drunk with anger!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poltergeist Biding Its Time
Boats of a long-lipped scar:
I play the housemaid of a truant, I don’t get too far:
When I was a ghost, I made it all the way
To Spain,
But when I died as ghost, living I came back home
Again;
And the city, and the village grew with invention,
And you could hear what they were making all night through
The swift toed streets.
They made those too, and the university, and the halogens
Over the soccer filled stamped with cleats;
And I loved a girl there,
I suppose:
I loved a girl there from the rose bushes no body
Knows;
But I had already died there.
I had already been eaten by the swifter avenues of the petty
Men-
The petty men who got her first and afterwards she wouldn’t
Let me in;
And now I sleep all night alone atop the rooftops of
Ancient high schools.
Like a laughing skull I swig my gin:
And I can almost taste her, taste her, while I kick and
Flutter like a laughing wind vane far beneath the
Swift toed airplanes,
The venal rocket ships, the unequivocally winged devices
She cleans houses in;
And it must be petty of me spending my breathless time
Repeating the abuses that she has forgotten;
But she is just a simple girl biding her time,
While I am the fruit that is really rotten:
I am the poltergeist biding its time inside a boy who is
Forgotten.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr. Nobody
there's a dead man
in a box down at the
funeral home... nobody
came to see...
but hell, nobody came
when he was alive....
nobody called, nobody wrote...
and Mr. Nobody went about
his days, doing what you do
to get by... cooking small meals,
and drinking black coffee....
watering his plants, walking
his dog, sitting in his chair....
staring at old photographs
of children grown and moved....
and of the woman he loved
for forty years... buried beneath
a tree down by the church...
now he lies in the box, still,
cold, and lifeless... no voices,
no tears.... his dog wandered off....
there's nobody to bury nobody
in the world where nobody lived
and died...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Streets Of Philadelphia
I was bruised and battered and I couldnt tell
What I felt
I was unrecognizable to myself
I saw my reflection in a window I didnt know
My own face
Oh brother are you gonna leave me
Wastinaway
On the streets of philadelphia
I walked the avenue till my legs felt like stone
I heard the voices of friends vanished and gone
At night I could hear the blood in my veins
Black and whispering as the rain
On the streets of philadelphia
Aint no angel gonna greet me
Its just you and I my friend
My clothes dont fit me no more
I walked a thousand miles
Just to slip the skin
The night has fallen, Im lyinawake
I can feel myself fading away
So receive me brother with your faithless kiss
Or will we leave each other alone like this
On the streets of philadelphia
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Time When Mother Left For Ozamis
i remember now
it was at that time when mother packed her clothes
and left my father for good
back in the little village where mother
was raised by grandmother
as a naive girl
keeping things to herself.
she dwells in a house of silence.
it was at that time when father said
that he loves her very much
that losing her would mean his death
but mother was no longer in the house
where we grew.
and of course, mother did not really believe him.
she died ahead of him, and he got drunk everyday, and
he put her picture on top of his chest and he cried all night long
staring at her face, black and white, her hair her mouth.
he died a year after and he was buried just beside her pantheon.
i still wonder if mother would believe him.
the silence is overwhelming. no one sweeps the heaps of leaves
and no wind is strong enough to clean the mounds filled with thick grass.
come summer time, i see white daisies blooming, and a black butterfly
hovers to stop a while. I watch closely this new turn of events.
it is like poetry. Some metaphors. Symbols, and hints. Love's mouth
wanting to say all over again, what the heart has constantly hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three Graves
HOW did he live, this dead man here,
With the temple above his grave?
He lived as a great one, from cradle to bier
He was nursed in luxury, trained in pride,
When the wish was born, it was gratified;
Without thanks he took, without heed he gave.
The common man was to him a clod
From whom he was far as a demigod.
His duties? To see that his rents were paid;
His pleasure? To know that the crowd obeyed.
His pulse, if you felt it, throbbed apart,
With a separate stroke from the people's heart.
But whom did he love, and whom did he bless?
Was the life of him more than a man's, or less?
I know not. He died. There was none to blame,
And as few to weep; but these marbles came
For the temple that rose to preserve his name!
How did he live, that other dead man,
From the graves apart and alone?
As a great one, too? Yes, this was one
Who lived to labor and study and plan.
The earth's deep thought he loved to reveal;
He banded the breast of the land with steel;
The thread of his toil he never broke;
He filled the cities with wheels and smoke,
And workers by day and workers by night,
For the day was too short for his vigor's flight.
Too firm was he to be feeling and giving:
For labor, for gain, was a life worth living.
He worshiped Industry, dreamt of her, sighed for her.
Potent he grew by her, famous he died for her.
They say he improved the world in his time,
That his mills and mines were a work sublime.
When he died—the laborers rested, and sighed;
Which was it—because he had lived, or died?
And how did he live, that dead man there,
In the country churchyard laid?
O, he? He came for the sweet field air;
He was tired of the town, and he took no pride
In its fashion or fame. He returned and died
In the place he loved, where a child he played
With those who have knelt by his grave and prayed.
He ruled no serfs, and he knew no pride;
He was one with the workers side by side;
He hated a mill, and a mine, and a town,
With their fever of misery, struggle, renown;
He could never believe but a man was made
For a nobler end than- the glory of trade.
For the youth he mourned with an endless pity
Who were cast like snow on the streets of the city.
He was weak, maybe; but he lost no friend;
Who loved him once, loved on to the end.
He mourned all selfish and shrewd endeavor;
But he never injured a weak one—never.
When censure was passed, he was kindly dumb;
He was never so wise but a fault would come;
He was never so old that he failed to enjoy
The games and the dreams he had loved when a boy.
He erred, and was sorry; but never drew
A trusting heart from the pure and true.
When friends look back from the years to be,
God grant they may say such things of me.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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The Town I Loved So Well
In my memory, I will always see
The town that I loved so well
Where our school played ball by the gas yard wall
And they laughed through the smoke and the smell
Going home in the rain, riding up the dark lane
Past the jail, and down behind the fountain
Those were happy days in so many, many ways
In the town I loved so well
In the early mornin the shirt factory horn
Called women from cryin, the moor and the bog
While the men on the dole played a mothers role
Fed the children and then walked the dog
And when times got tough there was just about enough
And they saw it through without complainin
For deep inside was a burning pride
In the town I loved so well
There was music there in the derriere
Like a language that we all could understand
I remember the day that I earned my first pay
When I played in a small pick-art band
There I spent my youth, and to tell you the truth
I was sad to leave it all behind me
For I learned about life, and I found a wife
In the town I loved so well
But when I returned, how my eyes have burned
To see how a town could be brought to its knees
By the armoured cars and the bombed-out bars
And the gas that hangs on to every breeze
Now the armys installed by that old gas yard wall
And the damn barbed wire gets higher and higher
With their tanks and their guns, oh my god, what have they done
In the town I loved so well
Now the musics gone but they carry on
For their spirits be bruised, never broken
They will not forget but their hearts are set
For tomorrow theyll have peace once again
For whats done is done and whats won is won
And whats lost is lost and gone for ever
I can only pray for a bright, brand new day
In the town I loved so well
song performed by by Ronan Keating
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back Street Joe
Written by ricky & marty wilde
Dancing with back street joe
That was a time I loved
When we were kids so young
So long ago
Dancing with back street joe
Back in a time I loved
We used to move all night
That was a time to know
There comes a time in your life
When you just wanna break free
But now I wanna go back
I wanna have him with me
Dancing with back street joe
We used to want that sound
And everytime it played
We used to hang around
There was music and
There was rhythm and
There was something I cant explain
Out of nowhere hed
Move his shoulder
And make you feel you could
Live again
Then came a moment in time
When I just had to be free
But now I wanna go back
I wanna go back and see
That look in his eyes again
And now on the streets
I look for you joe
Dancing with back street joe
Back in the streets I love
We used to dance all night
Was it so long ago ?
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Day That I Die
One day I woke up woke up knowing today is the day I will die
Cashdogg was barking went to the park and enjoyed that one last time
Called my mother told her I loved her and begged her not to cry
Wrote her a letter that said Id miss her and signed that goodbye...
You know the happiest day of my life
I swear the happiest day of my life is the day that I die
(the day that I died)
Can you feel the cold tonight?
(the day that I died)
It sets in but its alright
(the day that I died)
Darkness falls Im letting go
(the day that I died)
All alone but I feel fine
We took a drive and we drove thru d.c.
To see the places we lived, long conversations
We talked of old friends and all the things that we did
Summer nights, drunken fights
Mistakes we made...did we live it right?
You know the happiest day of my life I swear the happiest day of my life
Is the day that I died
(the day that I died)
Can you feel the cold tonight?
(the day that I died)
It sets in but its alright
(the day that I died)
Darkness falls Im letting go
(the day that I died)
All alone but I feel just fine
You know the happiest day of my life
I know the happiest day of my life
I swear the happiest day of my life is the day that I died
(the day that I died)
Can you feel the cold tonight?
(the day that I died)
It sets in but its alright
(the day that I died)
Darkness falls Im letting go
(the day that I died)
All alone but I feel just fine
Did I live it right?
I hope I lived it right
I hope I lived it right, I know I lived it right
Did I live it right?
I hope I lived it right, I know I lived it right
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brother, You’ll Take My Hand
NOT to the sober and staid,
Leading a quiet life,
But to men whose paths are laid
Ever through storm and strife—
Here is a song from me,
Sent to the tragic West,
Message of sympathy
To the hearts that can never rest.
This is the song I send
Out to the Western land—
Sinner, and martyr, and friend,
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
To you who have loved and lost;
To you whose souls have died
Cursing a fair false face
And the red warm lips that lied;
Loved with a boyish love,
With a love that was pure and true,
That set one woman above
The world that was known to you;
Eating your heart out now
Alone on a waste of sand—
I have been played with too.
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
To you who were loved too well,
And who cast that love aside
When your vanity was replete
And your passion was satisfied—
Haunted now day and night;
Haunted in every place
By the eyes of a suicide,
Set in a dead girl’s face.
Crouched in your misery
Out where the stars are grand—
O I am haunted too!
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
To you who had wealth or name,
Friends, love, and a future fair,
And who sacrificed all for drink
And the nights of Leicester Square:
In by the drunken town,
Out on the barren tramp,
Pacing it up and down
Alone by the listening camp;
Crouched in your agony,
Hiding your eyes with your hand—
I had the ball at my feet—
Brother! I understand.
There is a light for all;
Hold up your head and live!
Forgive the woman who wronged,
And the dead girl will forgive.
Brood not, but work for good;
Work in the world of men—
Strong is the man who fell
And rose from the depths again.
There shall be peace for you,
Sinners, who win the land.
I would fight upward too—
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cannonball Days
What's come to stay from the Cannonball days
but a house and some clothes on the line.
Fired away your drunken brigade
In the streets of New York as a child.
Woman so fine, fine as a girl
Slow like an Italian wine.
Her hair all a mess and a dress off the shelf
But all of your roses have died.
Better luck in the next life
Cuz you're gonna need it dear.
Loved you back then, but i couldn't say when
Cuz all of your roses have died
All of your roses have died.
I tasted your lips with my hands on your hips
Danced in apartment named Nine.
Cats on the sill and my head to your breast
Beating your rhythms divine.
West Jersey Queen with a rattled machine
Tasted the salt through your skin.
Loved you back then, but I couldn't say when
Cuz all of your roses have died.
Better luck in the next life
Go give em some hell and goodbye
Loved you back then, but i couldn't say when
Cuz all of your roses have died
All of your roses have died.
Basked in the heat down on Christopher street,
Bought you a rose from a bum
Left you a note, had it stuffed in your coat
You laughed and said it was dumb.
Broke like a stem, and I guess you're with him
I'm sure that he treats you just fine.
So bottoms up, cheers, baby here's to your tears
all of your roses have died.
Better luck in the next life
I'll miss you, but go on, goodbye.
I feel like a stray from these cannonball days
when all of your roses were mine.
all of your roses were mine
all of your roses........were mine
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Goblin Under the Stair
When I was seven, or maybe eight
My father left when my mother died,
He said he'd take me when he came back,
He said he would, but my father lied!
I went to live in the Bailiwick
Of Nether Dearth, in a Castle there,
And every night as the clock did tick
I heard the Goblin, under the stair.
He'd rasp his nails on the old stone wall
And make the stairs in the passage creak,
And then he'd let out a tiny moan
While I lay trembling under the sheet!
I'd gone to live with a maiden Aunt
Who kept a dwarf as a servant there,
His name was Hob, and he'd say: ‘I can't! '
Whatever we asked; ‘It's just not fair! '
‘It wasn't fair' that he chopped the wood
To feed the fire in the ancient hall,
‘It wasn't fair' that he made the tea
Whenever my Aunt put on her shawl!
‘I'm much too small for the heavy jobs, '
He'd say, and handed the axe to me,
Then wandered down to the orchard, where
He'd sit in the shade of an apple tree.
‘My Aunt said, ‘God, you're a lazy Hob,
Get back to work or you're gone from here! '
He'd pull a face, and he'd try to sob,
But she'd go in, and she'd pack his gear!
One day I mentioned the Goblin there,
He shook all over, his face was white,
‘You lie! There isn't a Goblin here! '
‘I think you're wrong - but I hope you're right! '
‘He comes at night when the moon is dim
And sits right under the castle stair,
Then moans and mutters, he sounds quite grim,
And sometimes shrieks as he claws the air! '
‘I've heard him tearing that tapestry,
The one that hangs in the cobweb room,
The one that no-one's supposed to see,
It's always shuttered, and filled with gloom.'
‘You mean, ' said Hob, and his face collapsed
His eyes bugged out in a fit of fear,
‘The picture sewn on that mouldy rag
Is a portrait of Edward Glastonbury! '
And then he snivelled, and then he cried:
‘That Goblin's coming on after me!
My grandfather was three foot four,
That same, that Edward Glastonbury! '
He waged a war on the Faery Folk
And the Goblins in the neighbourhood,
He rode abroad and he practiced spells,
And chased them all to the Underwood! '
‘I thought they'd all died out by now,
But if you're right, there's one abroad,
I'll have to tackle the stairs tonight
And slay the Goblin, with my sword! '
That night, the muttering started late,
The moon was hidden behind a cloud,
The moaning kept me alert, awake,
But then the shrieks, and the cries were loud!
I ventured out to the passage stair
And there was Hob by the old hall stand,
The Goblin clung to his throat and back
And waved Hob's sword in his other hand!
Then Hob ran shrieking, into the night
With the Goblin stuck to his back for good,
The screams they faded, and then they died,
They seemed to come from the Underwood!
I stayed a couple of years or more,
The mutters and moans were gone for good,
And Hob, wherever he toils and groans
Is down with the Goblins, chopping wood!
14 May 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Loved Like Diamond
She ran the risk from unity
Obsession dies alone with tragedy
She loved like diamond
She loved like diamond
And cut so hard
She died
A passion course that leads to pain
An acid taste that laced her soul again
She loved like diamond
She loved like diamond
And cut so hard
She died
Another path,Ive run them all
The rain has cleared the stains,no trace at all
She loved like diamond
She loved like diamond
And cut so hard
She died
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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John Robinson
AIR -- "The Drunkard"
Come listen, friends, and hear a song,
It is a doleful one,
About a young man, dead and gone --
He died far away from home.
John Robinson this young man's name,
His age I cannot tell,
And he was loved by all his friends,
And he was known full well.
His father and mother being dead,
It left him an orphan boy,
When he was with his brother
His health failed him, poor boy.
Kind friends they thought 'twould do him good
To travel for his health;
To California he did go
With his Uncle Zera French.
He was not gone but a short time
When a letter his friends received;
It told how homesick Johnny was,
How he for home did grieve.
It said that he was getting worse,
And his money was nearly gone,
And if he did not soon return
Never more would he see home.
It said, "Dear Brother, will you please
Some money to me send,
For I fear I have not got enough
To bring me back again.
The doctor says I must soon return,
If I wish my home to see,
For if I stay my life is short,
For the air disagrees with me."
His brother Will the letter read,
It made his eyes grow dim.
"Dear brother, he shall soon return,
For I will go and fetch him."
This brother dear was very kind;
With money, he went with haste
For to bring him home again,
But Oh! he went too late.
For he was sick, and very bad --
Poor boy, he thought, no doubt,
If he came home in a smoking car
His money would hold out.
He started to come back alone --
He came one-third the way --
One evening in the car alone
His spirit fled away.
No friend was near to speak to him,
Or hear his dying moan;
How sad, how sad it must have been
To die there all alone;
No loving friends to soothe his brow,
Or ease his weary form;
Poor soul, poor soul is now at rest,
For his soul to heaven has gone.
Telegraph dispatch was sent his friends --
How sad were they to hear --
How their loved one died all alone,
In a car with no one near.
The brother brought his body home
To his friends that loved him best.
He's sleeping in their grave yard now
Let peace be e'er his rest.
poem by Julia A Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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