American Fork citizen. [volume] (American Fork, Utah) 1912-1979, 1921-10-01

"But why wouldn't they let you be
on the paperi' her mother insisted.
Upon this FLORENCE became analytl.
cal. Just SOS they could act 80 i'm.
portant" And she added, as a con.
sequence; They ought to be arrest
ed"
Mrs. Atwater murmured absently,
but forbore to press her Inquiry; and
Florence was silent, In brooding
mood. The journalists upon the fence
had disappeared from view. during the
conversation with her mother; and
presently she sighed and quietly left
the room. She went to her own apart
ment. where, at small and rather
battered little white desk. after q pc
riod Of earnest reverie. she took up
a pen, wet the point In purple Ink. and
without any great effort or any criti-
cal delayings. produced a poem.
II was, In sense, an original poem
though, like the greater number Of all
literary offerings, II was SO strongly
inspirational that the source Of Its
Inspiration might easily become mani.
fest to cold-blooded reader. Never
theless. to the poetess herself. as she
explained later In good faith, the words
Just seemed to come to her--doubtless
with either genius or some form Of
miracle involved; for sources OF In
spiration are seldom recognized by In.
spired writer's themselves. She had
not long ago been party to q musical
Sunday afternoon at her great.uncle
Joseph Atwater's house where Mr.
Oairdyce, that amlable and robust
baritone. sang some Of his songs over
and over again, as long as the re.
quests for them held out. Florence's
poem may have begun to coagulate
within her then.
THE oR0ANEsT
BY Florence Atwater
The organest was seated at his organ
In q church,
In some beautiful woods Of maple and
birch.
He was very weary while he played upon
the keys.
But he was great orsanss, and always
played with ease.
When the soul 10 weary.
And the wind 10 dreary.
! would like to be an organest seated all
day at the organ.
Whether my name might be FsirchIid or
Morgan.
would play music like vas, amen.
The way Il sounds In church OF men
| Florence read her poem over seven
or eight times. the deepening pleasure
Of her expression being evidence that
repetition failed TO denature this work,
but, on the contrary. enhanced an ap.
preciative surprise at It's singular mer-
II. Finally she folded the sheet OF
paper with a delicate carefulness un.
usual to her. and placed Il In her
skirt pocket. Then she went down.
stairs and out into the back yard.
With thoughtful and determined eyes
she obliqued her gaze over the In.
tervening fences to the repellent sky
line formed by the too simple profile
of her cousin Herbert's fathers sta
BILE. Her next action was straight
forward and anything but prudIsh; sh,
climbed the high board fences, one af
Ter the other, until she came to 1
pause at the top Of that whereon thu
two journalists had lately made them
selves so odlously impressive.
Before her, II she had but takei
note OF them. were lesson In histor!
and The markings of profound transi
lion In human evolution. Beside tn,
old frame stable was little bricl
garage, obviously put to the daily U.s.
intended by Its designer. Quite as oh
vi0usly the stable was obsolete; any
body would have known from Its out
side that there was no horse within
Il. Here, visible. was the end OF th,
pastoral age. II might be called
from the Heidelberg jawbone to Mar
conf. The new age begins with una
chimes that do away with laborlng onl
mails and will proceed presently I
machines doing away with laborin
men, although II Is true that COW
may remain In vogue for some time
In spite OF the fact that they ar
already MIXED by electricity, the mil
itself must yet be constructed by tn
COW.
Al this was lost upon Florence
She sat upon the fence, her gaze vi
favorably, though wistfuliy, fixed upo
a sign Of no special esthetic mer
llbove the stable door:
THE NORTH END DAILY oRIoLE.
ATwATER q RoOTER OWNERS AN
PROPREITORS.
SUBSCRIBE NOW 3 CENTS.