It was 1899 and he was on a long trip to Europe that he really wasn’t enjoying. His thoughts drifted back over the years and the distances. He sat down that night in London and wrote a poem: “Saint Jo, Buchanan County, is leagues and leagues away. And I sit in the gloom of this rented room, and pine to be there today.” He wished he were back “in those leafy aisles, where Cupid smiles, in Lovers Lane, Saint Jo….”

AOWM – September 3