| page 3 of unpublished poems from my Grandparents journals.
I am sharing memories of yesteryear. My family kept journals of their lives, of their schooling, and these poems are from those.
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Warning: You are going to need a tissue!
I was setting in my study writting letter when I heard, Please dear Mama, Mary told me mama must'nt be disturbed, but I's tired of playing with kitty, want some oser fing to do. Writting letters is oou! mama tant I write a letter too? No, no darling mama's busy, run and play with kitty now. No, no, mama, me write letter, tan if you show me how. And his little face was clouded as I slowly shook my head, till I said, I'll make a letter of you darling boy instead. Then I parted back the tassel from his forehead high and white, and a stamp in sport I pasted mid the waves of golden light. Then I said now little letter run away and bare good news. And I smiled as down the stair case clattered lound his little shoes. Leaving me the baby hurried down to Mary in his glee. Mama's writting lots of letters, I'ss a letter Mary, SEE! No one heard his little patter as once more he climbed the stairs. reaching his cap he tiptoes standing on the entry chair. No one heard the front door open, no one saw his golden hair, as it flowed ore his shoulders in the crisp October air. Down the street the baby hastened, till he reached the office door, I'ss a letter Mr. Postman, is there room for any more? Cause this letters going to Papa, Papa lives with God you know. Mama sent me fer a letter, does you fink dat I tan go? Then the clerk in wonder answered, not today my little man. Nen I'll find anoser office, touse I mus go's if I tan. Strangely the clerk would of detained him, but his pleading face was gone, and his little feet was hastened as the busy crowd swept on. Suddenly the people parted, people fled from left to right, as a pair of maddened horses at that moment dashed in sight. No one saw the baby figure standing so reveantly there, till a voice of frightened sweetness rang out in the autumn air. Twas to late a moment only stood that beautiful vision there, then his little form lay lifeless covered ore with golden hair. Gently they raised my darling, brused away the curls of gold, saw the stamp upon his forehead, growing now so icy cold, not a mark his face disfigued, showing where the hoof had trod. But his little life was ended, Papa's letter was with God. unknown
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