Tues., July 31 Iron. Churn. Bake. Bella Blakely calls on Grace. Ruth goes to Basin Harbor. Pike for dinner. Another hot day.
My love was brilliant, wise and witty,
An office holder in our city,
Everywhere acclaimed, applauded,
Socially we both were lauded,
Friends about us everywhere.
Life and homage our full share,
Honored woman . . . happy wife!
Such was my outlook on life.
In our cellar wines were stored,
Always served upon our board.
Love and I grew fond of drinking,
Grew and drifted all unthinking.
Long we trusted in our prestige,
Clinging to the ragged vestige
Of the social robes we wore
And the proud old name we bore.
Then when wine became our master
It wrought havoc and disaster,
It wrought poverty and shame.
Oft in hiding when the came,
Friends to our once open door
Ceased to come . . . came no more.
We were ostracized, forsaken,
By our folly overtaken,
In nameless depths forever sunken,
In sorrows buried, always drunken!
Dark the way that we have traveled,
Sad the web we left unraveled.