NO other man, unless it was Doc Hill, Did more for people in this town than I. And all the weak, the halt, the improvident And those who could not pay flocked to me. I was good-hearted, easy Doctor Meyers. I was healthy, happy, in comfortable fortune, Blessed with a congenial mate, my children raised, All wedded, doing well in the world. And then one night, Minerva, the poetess, Came to me in her trouble, crying. I tried to help her out -- she died -- They indicted me, the newspapers disgraced me, My wife perished of a broken heart. And pneumonia finished me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PEACE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPECIAL PLEADING by SIDNEY LANIER A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 8 by THOMAS CAMPION SETTING SAIL by EMILY DICKINSON REVELATION by ROBERT PENN WARREN ADDRESS TO A CHILD DURING A BOISTEROUS WINTER EVENING by DOROTHY WORDSWORTH ALL WHITE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |