“Papa” was the first author whose work I liked enough to look for more. I read a collection of his short stories in third grade. Yes, a bit early, but books were my best friends at that time.
Since then I have read his novels, stories, and poetry.
I never stopped loving his work.
Along with Youth
A porcupine skin,
Stiff with bad tanning,
It must have ended somewhere.
Stuffed horned owl
Chuck-wills-widow on a biassed twig
Sooted with dust.
Piles of old magazines,
Drawers of boy’s letters
And the line of love
They must have ended somewhere.
Yesterday’s Tribune is gone
Along with youth
And the canoe that went to pieces on the beach
The year of the big storm
When the hotel burned down
At Seney, Michigan.
This poem is in the public domain.