A Poem by Carleton Hill

In 1947 my grandmother, Beulah Jones, had no idea what terrible things lay ahead in her life. At that time she simply wanted to be a writer. She had two poems published in a book called "Talent - Songwriters and Poets of 1947" under her nom de plume Carleton Hill. She was so proud of being published that she sent a copy, the one that I have, to her mother in Kansas with the inscription:

Dear Mom, Always thought I could do it; but, as yet, I haven't done much.

Good Lord, it doesn't get any sadder than that, does it? Poor thing. Anyway, there were two poems in this book and I would like to publish one of them here online so that she can finally reach the audience she wanted so badly to find in life.

A STATE OF UNPREPAREDNESS

To think of you in a garden,
A garden warmed with the sun of the afternoon
And jeweled with the dew of morning.

In our garden, for it is ours,
We have planted the seedlings of spring,
And, together, we wade in the heartway of summer.

To think of you is to exclude,
In all its completeness, the winter;
For before the winter, would come the autumn,
And I am not, nor shall I ever be,
In any measure prepared for the autumn.

Hey, not bad, Grandma. Not bad at all. And this woman was lobotomized a mere seven years later.