Time winged away and left this man behind,
A “Lesser Poet” to the most of us.
Why, my Lit. Teacher, normally inclined
To sympathy, got rid of him without a fuss .
I had forgotten him, and what he wrote
Til, browsing in an old bookstore one day,
I came across “To Mary”, and it smote
Me right across the soul–how else to say
It, when one little verse bored deep inside
Me, healed or put old musty fears to rout,
Touched depths unplumbed, and from their settings pried
A host of troubles and a cloud of doubt?
Call this poet Minor; snub, or reprimand–
His Love for Mary is a thing I understand….
Ray Romine
by Ray Romine Saturday, November 12, 1949
