Florence Mclane 1889 - 1902

Florence McLane 1889 – 1902 Psst… over here! My toppled tombstone is the one With the somber seraph carrying a cross. My grave is the one that no one can see or find. My hidden final resting place is in the digesting shade By the willowy walnut tree. Can you find me? Olly olly oxen free! Do you see me? Will you now hear me? I breathed my days on Pasadena Street Inside the little white house with the horseshoe over the door. I slept my nights under the stars With dreams and visions and intense remembrances. My cross to bear bore no semblance To the old bloody rugged one Borne by my Lord and Savior to Golgotha. To my friends and foes, Dead now for a multitude of minutes. I sought no pain or revenge. But your closed eyes never noticed My own bloody cumbersome cross. Never truly noticed the tiny ray of pure light Deep, deep inside my singed soul. Enveloped and masticated alive By the deadening darkness of the faithless. My final words to you all: Olly olly oxen Free!