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Poetry Page One

Songs written by Enos Oscar Jones Around 1874

Fair Maiden I love You

Fair maiden I love you as I walked out one evening, when the silver moon was shining and the little stars were twinkling. Twas in the month of June I chanced to meet a beauty so sylph like neat and pretty. With pouting lips like ruby, peach blossoms in full bloom. And as I drew up nearer her sweet face met my view. My heart spoke like a whisper Fair Maiden I love You.

Chorus--Oh! Yes, yes, yes she is all the world to me. Oh no!, no, no there is none so fair as she with bright blue eyes bewitching they pierce me through and through. My heart spoke like a whisper fair maiden I love you.

Each day my love grew stronger and I could wait no longer. At last I did approach her with lady please excuse though often times I have seen you and wished that I might know your name. The fact is that I love you. My soul pleas don't refuse me, she smiled and said don't falter for if what you say be true. It gives me joy and pleasure I think I might love you.

Chorus-- That evening when we parted her story then she told one which I hold sacred and shall never unfold. The roses was a blooming the gentle breeze perfuming she said in words so loving my name is Sulu Bell. Each day we are together our cares and woes are few. She loves to hear me whisper Fair Lulu, I love you

Kitty Wells written by Enos Oscar Jones

You ask what makes thus darling weep, whistle he like others am, but gay. What makes the tears roll down his cheek from early morn till end of day. My story darling you shall hear in my memory fresh it dwells. I will cause you all to drop a tear on the grave of my sweet Kitty Wells

Chorus-- When the birds were a singing in the morning and the thistle and the ivy were in bloom and the sun on the hills were a dancing 'twas then we laid her in the tomb.

I never shall forget the day which we together on the dell, I kissed her cheek and named the day that I would marry Kitty Wells but death came in my cabin door and took from me my joy and when I found she was no more I laid my banjo down and cried. I often wish that I was dead and laid beside her in the tomb the sorrow that bows down my head is silent in the mid night gloom. The spring time has no charm for me though flowers are blooming on the dell. For that bright form I can not see 'tis the form of my sweet Kitty Wells.

By Enos Oscar Jones

Heaven will merciful be for Oh! I am nobody's darling no body cares for me.

Just Lonesome

What is the matter with this old house? Everything quiet and still as a mouse. I don’t feel right, there is something wrong. I can’t even whistle or sing a song. When anyone speaks I want to cry. I believe even now there’s a tear in my eye. The dog looks up with it’s watchful eye’s and the tender look says "I sympathize" The flowers look droopy and ever things blue, even the sky has changed it’s hue. You ask me the reason? I’ll tell you true, My answers so clear, "Just lonesome for you"

By Your ever loving

Ada Mae Jones

Phenomena To Ada Jones

The moon was full as he arose, and looked he down on a rain swept world, not a cloud in view as he smirked and preened as he watched his reflection in pools that swirl.

As he sailed aloft to a dizzy height, horror of horrors! He closed his eyes, five setting moons he saw at one time, oh for a cloud! For to his surprise.

The five setting moons arose and lo! Five new pools and no cloud in sight, he hurried on, but his face was pale he must have received an awful fright.

Now everyone knows the moon was full, and was high as a kite, his habits since birth, but in spite of all this, I think it is true, but here is the fact that provokes me to mirth,

I was there but my back was turned to the moon, and so were the others, of them there were four, I saw five moons too, and so say the rest, one up in the sky, four below, and no more was it because he was really "high" or was "dizzy" that made him see double and more/ It as nature at work, we all are agree, The moon, myself, and the other four.

(off the record, not for publication)

In memory of the beautiful moonlit hills of Missouri, and a much enjoyed vacation to St. Louis in 1946.

Dedicated to my cousin in correction of the poem written by her "Phenomena" in the year AD 1946.

The moon looked down with a smirk and a grin for there by the kitchen door was a circle seen only by him. It was that last little duty each has to do, before to bed they go, was a rainy eve so we girls didn’t go far with "moon" in breeze, five in the circle, one above was six I declare- by far.

Daisy Shepherd

Musings of a Homesick Girl,

Alone in the city of Lima, Is a girl who is feeling blue. although the future to strangers, seems to take on a roseathe hue. For the room in which she is sitting is a cozy and comfortable one, and she sits in a cushioned armchair for her work for the week is done. Some of the folks went to meeting, the old folks retired for the night, and as she sits she is thinking, and her future to her is not bright.

Musing's: Will I ever forget my father who cared for me, guided my feet, so that in years in the future his last words to me seem not sweet, Oh, how could the good shepherd, knowing of dear ones he left behind, take him from wife and children? It seems so unjust and unkind. "What is there left to live for?" I ask myself, each morn. As I start to work at the factory, wishing I’d never been born. Is there nothing but toil and worry in this cold and dreary world? My heart is a whirlpool of water, into which a stone has been hurled. The stone has sunk with a gurgle and lies so heavy there. The edge of the whirlpool is frozen and my heart is wrung with despair, my thoughts take a different turn and the unjust things I have written at the very thought I spurn. Does not the shepherd who guards us do all things always well? And is not the one who defies him fit for the tortures of hell? Is there not lots to live for? There is mother and dear ones too, how could I be so selfish, so foolish, unmindful and blue? Will god, as people of fashion, cast out a factory girl? Ah! No, it shall be a jewel in my crown as I walk down the streets of Pearl. S this not the time for winter, with its clouds of ashen gray? And the ice in the pool of water must melt ‘ere the coming of May. And as for the stone in the whirlpool, it has not been imbedded so long. That god has not power to remove it, and fill up and make the place strong. And the rushing of the whirlpool will not god do as much for me as he did in the olden history, for the people on Galilee? Now if I have seemed unreasonable. It was selfishness on my part. For Christ, the redeemer has unlimited power to heal up a broken heart.

1/29/1907 By Ada Jones

When Ethel Packs the Grip.

We thought we’d take a visit, just for a couple of days, we’d go home to see our mother, we’d nier seen for sixty days. I busy myself fixing things while time does swiftly slip. I try on dresses, gather things, and Ethel? Packs the grip. "Well only take this small grip, the other one’s to large, folks will think were going to Europe says Ethel, but I interpose, That little one’s to small, what’s the use of carrying bundles, when one grip would hold them all? I plead and beg but all in vain, I yield to her at last. For the thought of having my way, is forever gone and past. We get our things all fixed at last. And start out with many grumbles. She takes the grip, you know, to pack and hands to me the bundles. I’ll tell you just one little truth, when starting on a trip. If you don’t like to pack the bundles, don’t let Ethel pack the grip.

Dedicated to Ethel Jones May 18, 1907, by her loving sister Ada Jones