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!
Copyright ©
Stark Hunter
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