February 6, 2013


I’ve been sorting through old papers and occasionally uncovering hidden treasures and curiosities. Today, I ran into a page that came off my printer that has this heading:

by Lionel E. Deimel

What follows is the beginning of a poem, but the poem ends in the middle of a stanza and trails off into handwritten notes. When I discovered this piece of paper, my eyes went first to the poem itself, not to the title or author’s name. I asked myself, “What is this?” Then I asked, with incredulity, “Did I write this?” I don’t remember writing the poem, which is unlike any of my other poems.

The piece is perhaps worth finishing, but the problem is that I have no idea where I wanted to go with it. Here is the part of the poem I apparently found reasonably satisfactory:

by Lionel E. Deimel

While I was walking down the road
I met a maiden fair,
With eyes cast down and visage drear,
And tattered ribbons in her hair.

“What ho, fair lass, is life amiss?
“What hath befallen thee?”
“Methinks I must not tell, good sir.
“Forsooth, I am undone,” said she.

She hurried past but said no more,
So I my trip resumed

Can anyone suggest how this poem should continue? What do you suppose I was trying to say?

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