Poem For Edith M. Thomas Poem by Paul C. Maybury Jr.

I remember the fate filled day,
I opened that old tome.
Serendipity is the way,
We find our true heart's home.

The History of Ohio!
What an unlikely place
To find the one I now know,
Would give my heart no peace.

The poem was quite commonplace
Really not one of her best.
Yet in it still I found a trace
That sent me on a quest.

I found her verse strewn here and there
Her name and story sometime told.
Of her pictures just one fair
One young and three quite old.

Her eyes stopped me, stopped my heart.
If turned my way they'd see me clear,
Through the years that do us part.
One hundred years can seem so near.

Her verses are that timeless kind,
That give few clues to when she was.
Her eyes looked forward and behind
To what might be; of what man does.

Her soul I find within her words,
A spirit sad and so alone.
Her love of nature, love of birds,
I share, and reading, 'Edith' moan.

How I wish I could have known,
And cherished living her sweet life.
Her story'd melt a heart of stone
The loves she lost; her paupered strife.

But she happened long ago,
Her verse is all that's left of her,
So Edith I will never know,
Not so, I love that's best of her.