Summerhouse Blues
written by: J. Iner Souster
Down, down, down
into the darkness of the silken parasol
Still, she did not sleep,
for there was the white room to look at
there was the face in its beauty
which had smiled upon her from the walls
spoken softly with a loving voice
looking at her through this window
when the days were long,
she should sit in the little summerhouse
on the porch, watching
for the one who might come up through the garden gate
to take her hand and say they loved her
and she looked up with eyes of fire in her soft
brilliant pink cheeks, eyes that
would forever belong to this sad garden
where many would die and where the silent one would lie
in the garden full of daffodils and forsythia
but the summerhouse was empty
the sun went down, and the garden grew cold,
and the flowers withered and the roses died
her face was wan as it had been,
there would be no one to take her hand
as she went to sleep in the little bed of green lilies
and knew that her time was up
she stood in the room with the white parasol
and saw what she had become.
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