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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Daisy Magill 1889-1919 A person knows when she will die. I knew it. My uncle Harry knew it. And my consumption knew it too. My dying day was a sunny one, my friends. As the July sun bathed my garden flowers outside, I felt my life force slowly ebb away from me, There, inside my lilac-filled bedroom on Comstock, And I knew, all the hours of that dreaded day, That I would soon be buried in my cozy coffin here, In this weedy tract of Mt. Olive Cemetery, Under these friendly walnut trees. And while struggling to stay awake that last hour, From my final sleep of death, I thought back in painful anguish, Back to my youthful carefree days, When I was seventeen, And my long auburn hair was in braids; When my friends were all alive and happy, And when life was good and free under the sun! But Time took control of the reigns, Of my coming days and years, And more often than not, Left me weeping for the past. The past, when I had my time of incredible magic! A single rapturous moment of utter bliss! With him! Roscoe Settle and me that day! Meeting secretly at twilight time, Embracing and kissing wildly, Under these friendly walnut trees, Here in weedy Mt. Olive Cemetery!
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