Jered Turner

At age ten I fled from the Children’s shelter ,

In hopes of creating my life.

I was drawn to Spoon River for it had

Fields of corn, too vast for the naked eye to see across,

And surely there would be fortune to seek in such fields.

I pushed on to Spoon River

And there, vagrancy, in it’s cold shell,

Loomed down upon me,

Like a hungry fox creeping toward

An unsuspecting bird.

Penniless, ragged, and helpless

I desperately fumbled for work

In the darkness of Spoon River.

Till age fifteen I stretched out

My scabbed and blistered hand

In a desperate attempt for a real life.

Finally a light struck

When Cooney Potter offered to hire me

If I would help complete his two thousand acres.

There, in the hot fields of Cooney Potter,

Malaria struck me and I was pulled to the grave.

And I was finally at rest in the town of Spoon River.