Examine New Census Data Transcribed By State   

  Poetry Page two

Tale Of A Rosebud By Ada Alice (Jones) Andra (EARLY 1900'S)

It Was past the time for roses the summer was almost gone: But the grass was still green and growing, and glistened with dew at dawn.

A few flowers still bloomed in the garden, and as I surveyed them one morn. I was wondering how soon in the future, would my garden be brown and forlorn.

When my eyes were drawn to a rosebush, that had blossomed each month since June and I thought, "God must love these blossoms, so perfect is everyone."

A bud was beginning to open, whose promise of beauty was rare, and I longed for the time the world should see this "Queen of flowers" so fair.

But wise old Mother Nature sent a message in cool winds that passed, that the bud should "keep under cover" for Autumn was coming fast.

She heard the wind's whispered message, and the spinster-flowers by the wall, spoke loudly that winter's herald, Jack Frost was about to call.

Now, Jack was a stranger to Rosebud, so she thought about him much; she wondered if he were handsome, and bold and brave and such.

So she heeded not the warning, of Mother Nature so kind, and to get a good view of Young Jack, this beauty made up her mind.

The winds having given the message, left when the day was done, and wandered over the hilltops in the direction of the sun.

The moon came up all a splendor so large and full and bright, all nature stood still in wonder. 'Twas a glorious, beautiful night.

Young Jack looked down from the hilltops, and thought, "Tis the night for a jaunt." So he started forth in the moonlight, with a spirit nothing could daunt.

He wandered o'er hill and valley and and left a silvery sheen; on every side both near and far his footprints could be seen.

He entered into my garden, to rosebud's side he came, and she, growing shy in his presence could only murmur his name. 

And seeing her wondrous beauty, he paused by the rosebuds side. Who, pleased with the stranger's attention, could not well her vanity hide. 

And so he lingered till morning and she, knowing naught of the world, just let him kiss and caress her and her heart to him unfurled.

The moon scowled down on his cunning, stars nodded, "I told you so." The Moon sank, stars disappeared, and the dawn began to grow. 

When Mother Nature's old friend the sun came smiling down from on high. He saw the sweet rosebud bowed down in grief, with a tear drop in her eye.

Young Jack had fled to the mountain top, no thought for the wrong he'd done. This figures as only one.

The sun tried to cheer the little bud, but his efforts were all in vain; her head sank lower, the day wore on, and the stars came out again. 

But Jack came not to the little maid, so she never lifted her head. When the sun came up in the morning, he found the rosebud dead. 

All nature had been weeping for the loss of their fair young Queen, the winds moaned, the leaves fell, and general mourning was seen. 

And who are those that would blame her, this rosebud with feminine heart? For this world is so full of rosebuds, who are playing this rosebud's part. 


THREE-YEAR OLD BY LEW WILLIAMS THE BUCKEYE POET FROM THE BOOK OF NUGGETS (1928)

Little pink sunbeam of winsome guile, where did you find that glorious smile, that plays on our heartstrings all the whild, dear dear litle three year old? Where did you learn that baby song? When you came from heaven, you brought it along, It's melody sweet and it's harmony strong, my little three year old. Did the angels give you that dimpled hand, somewhere up there in the heavenly land? Tell me so I, too, can understand, sweet little three year old. Dear little package of mystery, wonderful bundle of baby glee, boundless the joy you have brought to me, blessed little tree year old. 

The Old Oak Tree

Dark was the night cool blew the wind and quickly fell the rain when Eliza left her own dear home never to return again. She left her own dear mothers side she feared neither rain or cold, for she was young and fair to see and love had made her bold.

That very night at ten o’clock, beneath the old oak tree she promised James, her own true love that with him she would be. For she feared not the beating rain or the tempest’s threatening roar she drew her cloak around her and stepped quickly from the door.

That evening passed, the morning came but Eliza did not come and much it grieved her friends to think where ever that she might be. Her aged mother tore her hair and raved in accents wild I’ll roam this kingdom round and round or find my darling child.

In vain thee weary weeks she spent in roaming the world around. But where ever she went whether near or far no Eliza could be found. At last to reach her own dear home this worn out mother tried and crushed with grief she there lay down and broken hearted died.

Now the cause of all this woe the owner of the ground young Squire Mc Cowan went out one day to hunt with horse and hound. Up hill, down glade, this party went a gallant company until by chance they lost their fox beneath the old oak tree.

The dogs they cried and tore the ground they sniffed and tore the clay and all the whips and horns they had could not drive those dogs away. The gentleman all gathered round they called for pick and spade. They dug the ground and there they found the missing murdered maid.

To see the grave give up its dead it was an awful sight. To see the worms eat out those eyes, those breasts which once were dazzling white now covered with wounds and blows and from those wounds fresh blood gushed and trickled through her clothes.

All in her side a knife was found which did reveal the shame for on the handle of that knife was Squire Mc Cowan’s name. I did the deed Mc Cowan cried my soul is fit for hell. Oh! Hide that cold corpse from my gaze and I the truth will tell

I own I loved Eliza once, but by a villains art. I won her to my vicious ways yet loved her in my heart. And when we’d meet she often would say oh! Make me quick your bride but I always laughed at her tears and sobs being hardened in my pride.

Until one dark and stormy night to meet me here she came and on my breast in tears and sobs she told me of her shame. And then she teased till I grew tired and as it seems to me the devil whispered take her life and then you will be free.

This knife I did my dinner cut I plunged into her breast and with the hilt I knocked her down I dare not tell the rest. But from that awful hour till this she stands before my eyes I always see her bleeding ghost or hear her dying cries.

As he stood gazing at that corpse all with a look of pain he drew a pistol from his belt and fired it through his brain. Yes, he was buried where he fell no Christian grave got he and none was found to bless the ground beneath the old oak tree.

The End

Possible written by Ada Andra