In Georgia's hills there stands alone
A single name carved in a stone,
Bleached white, and cleaned, and tended well,
The stone reads simply "Annabell".
In years to come this single name
Is all of her that will remain;
No song to sing; No book to list
How desperately she will be missed,
The Joy she brought, The Lives she touched,
No ode, or epitaph, as such:
"Here lies the daughter of a man,
She never knew, and never can."
And so I kneel, and soberly,
I say the one prayer left to me,
"Autumn winds, blow gently here,
April rains, fall softly here,
Summer sun, shine on this plot,
Bring her the warmth that I could not,
And keep from her the sleet and snow,
Tell Annabell, I loved her so..." |
