I was cleaning out some boxes in my office this morning when I came across a small notebook from the mid-1960s containing some of my earliest literary endeavors. Here are two poems I wrote at the end of my senior year in high school.
It becomes faded and old
Yet we worry not about it.
It is trodden upon
Kicked, scuffed and passed over.
Yet it serves us faithfully,
Protesting not a word.
It suffers the tortures
Which we inflict.
It cannot better itself
For it knows not how.
It is always there,
For us to walk upon.
Such it is with some people.
Ode To A Dead Rose
My tears fall as do your withered petals
To think that all your beauty is now lost.
Your scent still breathes perfume to the air
Though you’re faded and pale as a ghost.
Mem’ries of a loved one you bring
And to these my heart desperately clings
For fear that should you die
I would simply sit and cry
In dread that my swain’s love is dead.
Oh sad, sad rose!
Veiled in a mist of melancholy repose.
Think not of near impending doom.
Live on and bloom!
– Early Collected Works – Marion Marchetto