A lilac for the anonymity,
Of Mrs. Hinkle's simple poetry.
It shines within the margins of its space,
A single note of captivating grace.
The subtle sun through ancient maple leaves,
Paints memory with a gentleness that grieves.
A touch of soul is music to the bone,
Even after every wing has flown.
For Julia Ann Hinkle 1846-1908. This lady rests on a hill
above my house beneath a poem of her own composition.
She has been a great inspiration to me throughout my poetry life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem