SIC TRANSIT.
Reading edition
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of a year buried o'er, In a feminine hand and requesting My presence for tennis at four. Half remorseful for leaving it lying In surroundings unworthy as those, I carefully dusted and smoothed it, And mutely begged pardon of Rose. But I thought with a smile of the proverb Which says you may treat as you will The vase which has once contained roses, Their fragrance will cling to it still. For the writer I scarcely remember, The occasion has vanished afar, And the fragrance that clings to the letter Recalls—an Havana cigar.
W.B. ANDERSON.