Sweet Honeysuckle

Sweet honeysuckle stood,
With blossoms in her hair.
And the wind that moved so gently,
Sent perfume everywhere.

The Mourning Dove's far call,
Came steady to my ears.
A mournful, mournful cry,
That hung above the biers.

Soft cooing sweeping o'er the land,
So much that I was filled.
And lifted off the distant mound,
That left me fully thrilled.

The bees were ever buzzing,
Moving here and there.
And a young colt in the pasture,
Rushed up beside the mare.

It was a rare day...Yes Sir...ee,
When beauty was not consumed.
When the world lay sweet in loveliness,
And the honey-suckle bloomed.


E.P. 1908 - 1989