• Author: B-7401
• Editor: B-8266
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume V
• Page Number:
• Date: 8 21 1918
• Tags:
• poetry

A WORD TO OUR POET

Quite often we read in our Umpire elaborately composed epitaphs, tributes to a friend known or unknown to us, but who lies isolated by death from all influences of words and flowers; whose life might have been prolonged had he but received a small part of that praise and homage while he yet lived.

That we cannot find something good to say or do for a fellow while he lives, is a sufficient proof of the shallowness of all exhibitions of grief and words of praise.

Men and women come and go into this place every day and have done so for many years bringing abundance of cheer and comfort to our gloomy surrouncings: leaving the coziness of their own hearths that we might be warmed and healed by their sacrifice.

Do you not think that a word or two, or an inch of rhyme, would be gratefully lead by by them and cause their hearts to glad of such appreciation of their work?

There are many good souls in uniform here, whose service-stripes alone should tell you their worth, for no man uniriendly of nature would last.

Do you not think that a bit of a ‘‘boost’’ once in a while would gladden them, and cause things to run more harmoniously,

In our last Umpire we read of our friend Mr. Bradley’s demise, and of all the good traits he possessed, and that we must gather flowers abundantly that his coffin might be fully covered; would he not, one might wonder, have appreciated a little of this while he yet lived?

Our friend Mr. Tucker went home one day with many service-stripes upon his sleeve, and he neverreturned to us.

Do you not think that at times he had wondered whether his long service had been appreciated or not, and that a smile of thank fullness would have come to his face if he a moment before he closed his eyes could have heard a word of praise, or seen but one single flower from here?

—B 7401.