Poetry of

                         Daisy Elmore Tennant

                                       Daisy Elmore Tennant was not a frivolous poet.  She

                                wrote on themes that plumbed the depths of the human soul.  Her

                                poems touched on life and death and the deeper meanings of

                                human existence.

                                       Death claimed this outstanding Texas poet shortly after she

                               was awarded the tenth annual Nortex Press book award at the

                                annual banquet of the Poetry Society of Texas.  While she wrote

                                two previous books, Shifting Sands and Miss Fitts and Miss

                                Cellany, Now the Trumpet became her memorial.

                                                               When Autumn Rain

                                               When autumn rain lines up the aged years

                                               And couples them with worn old loves turned grey,

                                               For one enchanting  while there reappears

                                               A flicker of their charms that distant day;

                                               Then I can smell the wounded, bleeding grass,

                                               And ear the thunder of a love-fraught sigh;

                                               I feel the warmth from glances as they pass,

                                               And I can see the flame burn out and die.

                                               I reach for one and hope to separate

                                               It from the aging ear that woos it now,

                                               But then I know here is its perfect mate,

                                               And as a leaf must cling fast to its bough

                                               In order to survive, their only chance

                                               Is in their marriage bed of circumstance.

                                                                               II

                                               The rain left mirror pools along the walks

                                               With sunset-painted clouds reflected there

                                               To mimic that grey tiger-day that stalks

                                               Its prey and drags it off into its lair.

                                               The rain tapped out a dirge of love to me;

                                               I listened while the uninvited tears

                                               Washed deeper furrows of eternity

                                               And left uncovered all my store of years.

                                               What incident, somewhere in time and place,

                                               Twines strangling fingers that will not relent;

                                               With plum in spring, a quivered sigh, a face,

                                               Or just a tortured moment, passion bent?

                                               O senile grief, what thing can be so sad

                                               As mourning loss for what you never had.

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