05-29-1924

                                                            Thursday May 29—1924

1 30 p m, It is raining again to day and we are thankfull for it your Dad is upp to the cemetery fixing up the lots for to morrow he is dressed for the weather so I hope he vont get wet and cold I guess Grace vont come if it storms like this in Malad, I guess the Tremontons will come but if Grace dont come theere will be No Body home here thank you Sirs.  the sure did insulted me the day Uncle Charlie was buried so I am no relation to them now since Uncle Charlie died.

            Our piona have eleven flowers on and the are out just rigth for to take up to the graves, the lilac bushes is or been covered with flowers this year but I am sorry the flowers is almost gone Uncle Sjostrom told you Dad we can have all the snowballs we wants form them the got a big tree full of them this year, we got a lot of yellow butter cups in amongst the grass and the yellow roses is nearly out so I think I can fix upp a nice size bouque for each grave, I will be glad when Decoration Day will be passed,

            I wonder if you have heard from Joe lately and what he got to say to you now, F.O. got a letter from him saying he had applied for some thing but neither Annie or Frank could make out what it was for only if he gets it he will go to China and Japan and would not be back untill his four years are upp. I have sent the check he asked for last Monday. I think he will soon come to see us as he asked me to get a blank check and send him so he can or will have some monny ready to come home on when he gets his liberty or furlough.

            I shall now close and get the letter ready for the mailman to take so you will get this next Sarturday, mebe I will hear from you today I hope so any way as it seemes more lonesome when it takes to manny days between your letters, so long with much Love, Love, Love, to your own dear Floyd. and to you my own little Baby.

            from your Mumsey

                        Caroline J. Petersen.

[This newspaper clipping was enclosed with the letter.]

Literature

PRIEST AND POET

____________________

The Priest at the food of the ladder stood weeping,

The poet stood smiling at the head of the stair;

Said the priest to the singer: “I pray you to tell me

The road that you traveled to get where you are.

I have stood here as herald and watchman and shepherd

Since long years before you were born, night and day;

And I know that you never ascended this way.”

Said the poet, in turn, to the sad, lonely preacher:

“You are right, I am certain, so rest and be calm;

No ladder I climbed, no creed was my teacher.

God made me up here; I was born where I am.”

---BEN FRANKLIN BONNELL

What you say may be true, both of poet and preacher,

One at head of the flight, one at foot of the stair.

But tell me, which one the more truly God’s teacher,

Because of his standing down her or up there?

IF each does his duty, nor more is demanded.

What cause then for weeping, as if weal or woe

Were a question of stature and stilts high or low!

Moreover, the poet may preach, and the preacher

A poet may be, though no poem he brings.

‘Tis not rhyming along, ‘tis not sound makes the singer;

He must see, hear and feel all the songs that he sings.

I am not at all certain no creed or no climbing

Were needful to place poets right where they are.

E’en the spot of one’s birth may it not be a guerdon

For life on some planet that twinkles afar?

An heir of the ages is poet, is preacher,

A composite product, as everything shoes.

The poet is “born,” but is also created,

And haply the preacher helped make him—who knows?

                                                                                                ---ORSON F. WHITNEY