Florence

By John I. Blair

One of five Scots-German sisters,
The one who never wed,
She taught small children how to read
And learned to draw
Back when the state was new
And the land raw.

Sometimes the wind would moan all night
In the trees outside her house;
Tumbleweeds rolled down the sandy roads
And piled against the fences;
Dust sifted through tight-shut windows
And it seemed the world would always be depressed.

But she sketched tranquil country scenes
And subtle pastel flowers;
And when she died the drawings stayed
To show those who never knew her
That inner beauty can survive
Even among the rough hills of Oklahoma.

©2002 John I. Blair,
appeared originally in April 2003 Prairie Poetry)