William B. Watterson

Rookie - 18 Points (23 August 1943)

To A Sad Lady

I peered into the garden of her mind,
And growing there I found a flower so rare
That to describe a beauty of its kind
Seemed task too great. Yet as I saw it there,
At once I knew it was an image born
Of youthful hope. But bitter, poisoning cold
Had pierced the root, and former dewy charms
Were icy droplets in the petals’ folds.
I sensed frustration in her cruel jokes

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