Notes About The Poem
This is Poem 7 from Voices From Mt. Olive Cemetery, a work in progress.
Anne Simpson Scott 1895-1932
Anne Simpson Scott
1895- 1932
Friends, my friends,
I do remember.
On the night before leaving to France in 1917
George held my hand.
He held it firmly in his perspiring palm,
Held it and would not relinquish
His gallant grasp. I recall too,
He, taking his left loving index finger
And smoothly, affectionately, precisely,
Stroking my left accepting index finger
Like a soothing balm, like a healing descending brook
As it lapps and caresses the shivering earth
In the silent tranquil evenings of renewed Spring.
Friends, my friends
I do remember.
On our wedding day in 1921
George held my hand.
He held it firmly in his perspiring palm,
Held it and would not let go.
Not even for five fateful forgotten minutes.
Friends, dear friends,
I do remember.
On the morning I died in 1932
George held my hand.
He held it gently, reassuringly, resignedly
In his trembling perspiring palm,
Held it quietly, bravely, sadly
And would not let go.
And now friends, we are together again
Here in this deep sleeping earth
This dreaming drowsy earth
Here in Mt. Olive Cemetery
He on top of me
Our skeletal long fingered hands
Enjoined, enmeshed and entwined
Forever in the dust
Forever in the dark blooms of death.
Oh friends, my friends
I do remember.
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