Leander Skumfeldt 1864-1916

Leander Skumfeldt 1864-1916 Truly my friends Dying was my greatest fear, while alive. My most dreaded Most detested of future experiences. Dying, finally, was my greatest achievement My greatest joy! My highest calling! The summit of my scant human existence! Old Whittier town, I have missed you indeed, Have missed the bumpy rides by wagon and horse To Los Coyotes, Have missed the starry nights of suave embraces In Sycamore Canyon. With eyes wide open I saw the irony of my life, There, on a long table at Pio Pico. There, amidst the old pottery and the sombreros A single pressed morning glory From the Spanish Bible of The Don, A single fragile fading flower, A metaphor for a sad but ecstatic soul, My somber sullen soaring soul! Be it known: I lived my life quietly In the fear of God, and I died my death screaming curses to his face! But, truly my friends, truly I found brazen beauty Found unimagined enticings In the final gasping exhalation Of my last heartbeat.