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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.
Copyright ©
Stark Hunter
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