Notes About The Poem
Poem 35
From the anthology Voices From Mt. Olive Cemetery, a work in progress.
Frank Lane 1877-1913
Frank Lane
1877-1913
RS was my best friend,
A friend ever to the end.
Together we footed and mounted
The pliant limbs of the Hybrid Tree
On County Road,
And wetfully whistled,
As with birds in the warm zephyrs
Of summer solstice,
At the lassies down below,
With young and perfumed necks naked,
Ready and shivering,
For the ghost dance.
Together we skipped smooth stones,
Upon the staid surfaces
Of the state school pond,
Out back among the chicken coops
And the pig pens;
We howled and hollered,
As with hysterical night beasts,
Wild under the stars!
Together we passed scented posies to Lottie Gordon,
Our intended island of private discovery,
Our intended treasure,
Our intended Holy Grail!
And with silent tandem ascensions,
There in the enticing moon shadows,
RS and I found a home in the Gordon heights,
Inside the inviting spread-out mansion,
Of a hundred breathless whispers.
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