George Schultz 1898-1917

George Schultz

1898-1917

I was reposing voiceless on my deathbed,

As with the silent fog on a winter’s morning,

On the way out of here from kidney failure,

And as I closed my windows there,

On north Painter Street,

I tried to recall the greatest day of my life.

In pain, I remember grimacing there,

And then, ten minutes before my heart said “no,”

To this sad comedy called “Existence,”

I saw inside my fading mind 

That still moment in time,

That priceless artifact of mere memory:

I saw Georgia Brown and me,

Embracing and shivering like two birds at sunrise,

Holding on to each other in the December drizzle,

Of  a long-forgotten morning in 1913,

By the tall flagpole at the high school,

There on busy Philadelphia Street.

And even though I knew her heart,

A loving heart which belonged to another, and another,

She still accepted my romantic entreaties;

My hushed whispering words of sweet infatuation;

And that, my friends,

Is what I miss the most:

The fragrant audacious flirtations,

The deeply passionate naïveté, 

Of the one and only Georgia Brown!

deathepitaph

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