J. Laverne McCawley Poems

God plucked a rose bud just at dawn, that had hardly
shed the dew of birth
Like a gentle breeze she was gone, ere she hardly
touched the earth
...

It is past nine o'clock at night
In the halls we have dimmed the lights
Over third there prevails an uneasy quiet
No flash of lights, no ring of bell
...

My burden was so heavy, it seemed more than I could bear
as I trudged down a lonely, lonely road
No one anywhere seemed to care
or offer to help me, or share my load
...