Francis Turner Poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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 trees, and arbors sweet with vines --
There on that afternoon in June
By Mary's side --
Kissing her with my soul upon my lips
It suddenly took flight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/19/2024 6:55:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
