Lutetia Sue Plover Born 1862 - Died 1923 Whoever you may be, grieve not Because my stone is small Or seems thus but an afterthought. What need have I for more than this? I loved the world withal And yield rather with a kiss. Though we are passers-by today (Bless you who’ve come to call) Be in no hurry. If I may, Don’t think of me as being gone Say rather: ‘Twas time that I move on.
- Sorry I’ve been quiet these last couple weeks. I’ve been under the weather. Thought I’d post this little poem from my novel. I wrote it specifically for the book and deliberately drafted it in an antiquated style—something I thought might be believable for 1923. Around that time Frost was already underway and had returned from England. He had just taken up a teaching position at Amherst College, EA Robinson was widely read and Edna Saint Vincent Millay had just wowed the literary establishment with Renascence. So, I thought, what might someone, having read them, write for themselves around this time?
- From the Short Story Montana. To find out more click on the Short Stories page above.
When just a girl her mother said You have a hundred acre heart. Someday, I know, you’ll meet a boy And you and he will never part. He’ll love your heart’s untrammeled wilds, The seasons of your vagrant sky; He’ll build a house for both of you And sow your rapturous fields with rye. But let some paths go undiscovered And heed your woodland pools; the moon Will visit unregarded where The bones—the feasts of wolves—are strewn. Hide from him the baleful owl And if he hears the midnight’s howl, There’s savagery in what you are— Never let him go too far.